SilmFics

Tolkien Illustrator's First Aid Kit: Elves

2010-02-27T17:01:25Z

Might be useful for writers, too. Here:

http://silmarillion-club.deviantart.com/blog/30596214/

Art contest!

2006-10-22T12:35:55Z

X-posting

III International plastic fine art competition:
Tragic characters in Tolkien's literature

Organised by: ST WIEŻA Municipality Centre of Culture and Art in Bielawa, Poland in co-operation with the Strategy and Town Development Department. www.TolkFolk.pl

1. The aim of the competition is to engage the fans of JRR Tolkien's literature in Poland and beyond the Polish borders to create and to get knowledge of the world created by Tolkien and find out about the publications of that tremendous professor and writer.

2. The competition is meant for participants over 12 years old; there is no division into categories.

3. In Tolkien's publications there appear many characters being painfully experienced by tragic events in their lives. There are individuals among all the Humans, Elves, Dwarfs, or even Hobbits, whose deeds led to either misery or death. It often was the result of spells cast before, or misconduct. The aim of the competition is to show those characters in specific situations, experiencing their inner pain. The subject is wide, as it contains the whole Tolkien's literature, including the poetry as well.

The Jury appointed by the competition organizer would pay their attention to the work's idea, its quality and technique, as well as which characters have been chosen and how they are located in the history. It can be done at any technique (graphic arts, sculpture).The artistic work is simultaneously an agreement for the regulation, and acceptance of its content. Every competitor is allowed to send up to two works. The format depends only on the author.

4. The works marked only with the logo should be sent to:

S.T. WIEŻA
M.O.K i S.
ul. Piastowska 19a
58 - 260 Bielawa
Poland

Please, add to your work a separate piece of paper with the title of the work and enclose an envelope with the logo, the name and surname, address and contact details (telephone number, e-mail address).

The works without a title will not be taken into consideration

If you need any information, please contact us:
Telephone number: +48 74 645 09 60
e-mail. tolkfolk@tolkfolk.pl

5. The works should be sent up to 21 December 2006. The date of the postmark matters.

For all the non-Polish competitors!

Please, do not give the worth of delivery, for the organizer would not pay the customs duty and your work may not find its way to the competition.

6. The competition's result will be announced on the 3rd January, 2007 in Bielawa during TOLK FOLK event celebrating the anniversary of Tolkien's birthday. Within the next two days the organizer will contact the winners to settle the rules for the prizes transfer. The money prizes will be transferred in accordance with the currency obligating in the winner's country.

7. Jury composed of the members of the Tolkien�s Association local press and radio journalists, and the artists, will award the winner with the first prize of 150 Euro, as well as two honourables, 50 Euro each.

The money prizes are guaranteed, however, if there are more founders, there may be more awards.

The First Prize is founded by the Mayor of Bielawa.
The Honourables are founded by Municipality Centre of Culture and Art in Bielawa.
The prizes will be transferred to the winners� saving accounts within 21 days after the results announcement.
In specific situations the Jury may also award the winners with prize gifts.

Attention

The organizer has the rights to publish all the works. The works of the winners will be kept by the organizer.

All the works that will not get the prize will be sent back at the authors expense, only if they make a declaration within 20 days after the results announcement.

~~~~

More information about the organizer and previous competitions at:

www.TolkFolk.pl

Good luck in competition! :D

silmfics @ 2006-06-20T18:49:00

2006-06-20T22:49:35Z

Hello, all! My name is Achika of Rhien and I adore the Silmarillion. My favorite chapter is, unfortunately, Of Turin Turambar. Does that make me a twisted person? Maybe. But because I love the Silmarillion so much, I wanted to spread the joy of it. Unfortunately, not everyone is as stubborn as I. So I created silmin10, which is a Community of summeries of the Silmarillion, chapter by chapter. They are crack-filled and hopefully funny and strange, and not in order. I have four chapters posted (Maeglin, Beren and Luthien, Turin, and the Darkening of Valinor). I hope you enjoy them.

Mellon, im Maedhros. Telin le thaed.

2006-03-06T20:05:33Z

I don't want to annoy you with another "I've fixed Maedhros', but I just did it. I hope now it's final version, anyway I wont bother you here with another upade on this image.

So Arwen has stolen Glorfindel's part in teh movie, Maedhros has stolen Arwen's line here.
OK, ok, I did it, he is almost innocent ;)

Links to preview size:
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/28821198/
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/29960960/
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/29964937/
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/29964808/

I like the strange 'Im Maedhros. Telin le thaed' variation best. Is he talking there to a lost Sindarin kid found near Himring Hill or in his madness to Elwing sitting in a window with Mouth of Sirion view?

x-posted

Maedhros - art

2006-02-09T02:32:22Z

I see I was not posting it here, though I think you all are in other groups I did. Hmmm.
Anyway since I have updated the image I can post it here, too.

Here is new variation with nicer hair:
http://www.deviantart.com/view/28820697/ [800x710]
And another color scheme - a friend asked me of a desktop in sepia:
http://www.deviantart.com/view/28821198/ [1024x768]
[The thumbnail is from my new deviantArt ID, the best part.]

+ old post omitted here:

2006-02-03 /// A bit wild, a bit mad, a bit sane and still noble. A variation of a drawing I try to create for some time, if you're curious links are in the description. Link to the drawing:
http://www.deviantart.com/view/28565470/ [871x876]

Voices Of Despair

2005-08-31T12:08:25Z

Title: Voices of Despair
Author: ford_of_bruinen (ford_of_bruinen@yahoo.co.uk)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: No characters in this belong to me.
Feedback: I am open to all feedback, if you find linguistic, grammatical, plot or canon errors that you want to point out then please do so, I will be eternally grateful for all feedback given.
Summary: 18 Drabbles and 3 Double-drabbles on the theme Despair. Silmarillion based.

I.

The sand shines at Alqualondë, washed by sea during years uncounted. They commemorate death here; a few feet away lie the ruby shores. Your brother gave them the jewels they asked for, set them in stone and sand, as far as the eye can see to the north. A sickening reminder of your sins.

Their pipers stand here, always, playing sad tunes of betrayal on their silver flutes. They see you clearest here, as do our own people. I have heard of their memories, how they revel in the wrong against them but I had not seen it before today. It sickens me. How can they glorify death, celebrate it in loving hatred, the way they do?

I feel their eyes on me, their vengeful glee at seeing your widow thread over rubies, revelling in nausea I cannot hide as me feet slide over cold jewels the colour of blood. They can no longer reach you or our sons, all save one dead, so they reach for me, digging their claws in my soul, watching my pain.

I close my eyes.

Our people taught me this lesson long ago, mistakes are paid by those that stay, not those who leave.

~*~

II.

I loved that which was bright and golden, that which was different from what I knew. For that I was condemned, hated, as she turned her back on me, called me names, whispered lies in shadows darker than those I knew.

Her lover would not have kept his silence when I did, would not have clung to honour as I did, he would have died long before I broke under the Ironcrown. I longed for light, different from my mother’s darkness but she left me to drown, light turned dark. Cousin mine, who was the first to betray the other?

~*~

III.

I stand by broken earth, a dark wound in the green of forest and field where Lúthien once danced.

If I could curse men I would, but I cannot. If I could fault Morgoth the Vala or the Noldori I would, but I cannot. It was my pride that broke her, my love and my protection choking her. Not them. Had I welcomed him, the son of man, as Melian asked, she would still breathe. Her lips would still smile. Her hand would still be warm.

I watch the flowers fall and fade, summer has fled Doriath, never to return.

~*~

IV.

They whispered of those lost in darkness, of the birth of the race of the Orc, unspeakable horror and torture and of souls twisted beyond compare.

They were the stories we told at midnight, when the lights mingled, soft and dull, they were the nightmares that haunted us as children, our ghoststories and evils under the bed.

What creature am I now, on this cliff, my body broken, my soul shattered and my hands red with blood of innocents. What am I, mother, am I one of them, lost to the firstborn, twisted by darkness. Help me mother….I am drowning…

~*~

V.

My hands tremble at the loom, this was not the future I prayed for, not the way he was to live or die. My son.

My hands tremble as they fist in my skirts, tears burn behind my eyes. They left me. My husband first and then a son and daughter and now they are dead, lost to me, in bloodshed and despair. My children.

I begged for death once, to remain unbeeing, and then I begged for life. So many debts to atone. It is my fault they fall and fail and die. I first chose despair and now…

~*~

VI.

I no longer remember warmth, the light of the trees is distant, more dream than memory. It is always dark here, always cold, endless miles of ice stretching in all directions. I pull her closer to my body, desperately sharing what heat remains. She is so quiet, so still. My little one.

I hate the slushing sound of half-frozen waves, the creaking, groaning sound of ice on ice, snapping as it breaks. Too many have been lost here, betrayed by kin.

Cracking echoes through me. Water and ice drag me down. My daughter… frozen fingers unbending. She needs to live.

~*~

VII.

The battle turns against us, stench of blood and smoke chokes us. Where are you, cousin? I trusted you.

My arms are heavy, exhausted from hours of fighting. This was your war, not mine. Where are you? I feel their condemnation and despair. I am choking. Was I wrong to trust?

The field is littered with the dead, strangers, friends and kin shattered over the ground. WHERE ARE YOU?!

Gondolin’s trumpets ring though darkness, hope flickers in the faces of those around me as they fall. I stand alone now against the Valarauka. My heart breaks, we have been betrayed.

~*~

VIII.

“Mother?” His voice is small, dazed. I curl tighter around him, trying to stay strong, to protect him. Mother is dead. Can I tell him that?

I feel lost and small. But I am not small; I am big now, seven years old. Mother said I need to look after him, I am older than him with two whole hours.

What should I do now, mother? I am so cold. He has stopped crying and grown tired, his body heavy and so cold, we have been here for two nights. “Elurín,” I whisper in the silence. “Elurín, are you asleep?”

~*~

IX.

I stay quiet as I promised, my brother does the same. We promised mother. She was crying, promising she would be back soon. So we hide under the bed, clinging to each other.

I know why mother was afraid. She lost her brothers when she was little. I remember, she told us. I wonder if we will die.

I look at the boots that stop in front of the bed and cannot help the scream that escapes me when the owner of the boots leans down, looking at us. His hair is red and I scowl. Will we die now?

~*~

X.

The air is burning. Too much smoke, too much running. Sweet Valar is there no mercy? Concentrate. Fight. Defend those weaker, keep moving.

Ecthelion dead, the Tower fallen, our king lost. Will it never end? Will this damned night never end?!

They are hunting us, like frightened animals skittering up the mountain too dangerous, too close to the ravine.

We are almost through as it comes. To death and despair. To hope and life. Drawing my sword, attacking, blade sinking into the body of the beast, a hand of flame tangling in hair. I fall. Valar is there no mercy?

~*~

XI.

I stare over the sea, over to where I can still see the faint lights of the isle, gliding through the water. They did not wait. They have forsaken us.

If I close my eyes I can almost see it, the light from the trees of which Elwë spoke. It sounded a fanciful tale of a child as he talked, feverishly, of a land where the sky was bright and the light of stars poured out of one tall tree, but I wished to see it. I ached for that light. I imagine liquid stars upon my tongue as tears burn behind my eyes.

Elwë was lost, our leader, our strength and the people scattered. We searched long while the others left, the first and second kindred gone already, to the light. I begged, I pleaded and we went forward, pausing only for one last search before we left.

Now I stand here, watching the isle of my people fade into darkness. We are betrayed, left behind, forsaken by the king who begged us to search once more. The light… I so badly wanted to see the light, just once.

We are the forsaken ones, the Eglath of the sea.

~*~

XII.

The Valar lifted the ban they placed upon our people; they forgave us, the Noldori, for what was done. But they begged no forgiveness of us. They said nothing of their silence, their willingness to let the western lands suffer and die under an enemy they dared not face. Nothing of their own pride and spite I will not crawl for cowards and beg their mercy.

They turned their back on us, centuries of death and so I turn my back on them. Rot in your paradise and choke on the empty praise your servants offer. Galadriel will not crawl.

~*~

XIII.

I tasted their distrust as years grew older, the eldest son of Finwë blinded - your passion burnt of greed and spite. The looks in our direction, little sons - the seven - taught to hate.

In me the fire burnt the deepest, father. I was the one that carried name and face. You named me for your likeness, marked me, cursed me. Long before the swords and fire and betrayal.

I played obedient son, the most beloved, for far to long until there was no else. The fire burnt to ash, the cinders smothered. My life was always yours and never mine.

~*~

XIV.

Broken bodies scatter the floor, a sickening reminder of the dwarves. Feet slipping in gore, I walk further into the heart of Menegroth. My niece rules here now with Lúthien’s son.

I hear steps behind me that pause, feeling for pulses, looking for life, there is none. Doriath has fallen. The taste of vomit burns in the back of my throat as I reach the rooms, they lie here, Elúchil and Nimloth, like bloodied ragdolls.

Galadriel’ kin lies dead beside my King and Queen, Kinslayers. Briefly I hate her before horror arises anew. Sweet merciful Elbereth where are the children?

~*~

XV.

She claimed abuse, whispered words of sorcery, there were neither. She was my salvation, my hope. The white lady of the Noldor.

She took my child and spread falsehood against me, our son, the child I loved, expecting me to stay behind like a kicked dog. Heel Moriquendi at the feet of your masters?

They call me black of heart and soul; her hands are stained by blood of Kin. I am not the one that laughed in the hunt, eyes shining as they look at fallen prey.

Moriquendi, you name me, yet I was not the lover of blood.

~*~

XVI.

Love turns so easy to hatred, beloved, desire to disgust and despair. I was born under the light of Telperion, did you honestly think me happy here? I hate the light of your beloved stars, so faint and pale. You know nothing of beauty.

I was born a princess, beloved, not made to live like this. You think yourself a smith? I saw the greatest of the smiths and you pale are nothing, even Finrod the beloved, the boring, would outshine you.

I can crush you easily, the right whispers in my brothers’ ears. Lies are no strangers to me…

~*~

XVII.

My halls are empty. Achingly empty. Were they once filled of laughter, were there once children playing on the floors? It has been long since this house saw love and joy.

Despair and grief made heavy steps as we returned, shamed and sickened. The Valar forgave our rebellion and the blood on our hands, yet I never touched the sword.

There was hatred in her eyes as I stood before her. She hated the blood in my veins and the flesh from my father. She hated me for our children’s choices, for following the cousins that slain their mother’s kin.

~*~

XVIII.

A choice? To accept my brother’s death as a gift from the one? To accept my own? Is death a gift or curse, to rest and to forget and cease to be?

I hear him breathe but else the room is silent. The choice is mine he said, he has made his. What did he chose? Why will he not tell me?!

Air to thick to breathe, too thick to swallow, a band of iron tightening my chest. I close my eyes. “I will follow the Eldar,” I say, certain I guessed right.

“I chose the Men,” come the reply.

~*~

XIX.

I wake up screaming, yet another nightmare, another dream of darkness and of death.

Tales of Alqualondë travelled, with the Teleri and with the Returned. I wonder sometimes, my beloved, if you stood aside, defended or attacked. I questioned, but no one that I asked has words to tell.

Your father rules the city on the hilltop, quiet buildings echoing grief and shame. My feet has often touched the streets of marble, entered through the gate and then gone home. I have no words for broken Kings or fathers’, I have no peace to offer him and none for me.

~*~

XX

There is nothing but the scream of pain and grief. Nothing else, no emotions, no reality. Blistered hands held to close to fire as I reach out, trying to reach him, trying to find him as my brother holds me back.

Father laughs somewhere, claimed by madness, ruled by insanity. Ambarussa is gone.

The cinders fade and die, ashes in the wind coating my face, my tongue as the scream continues. Is that you Ambarussa? Am I wearing you on my face and hands? I slump in Nelyo’s arms all strength forgotten. The Ambarussa are no more, I am lost.

~*~

XXI.

The air is heavy and the stars are faint, even the voices of my sons are distant.

I stare at the stars, those which my father was born beneath, those that he loved and honoured, the stars that emboldened him on the Long Journey. I want to close my eyes, to shudder, to know that I failed him in life, but my eyes remains open.

I should have let him love and to be happy, should have given him as much as he gave me. Instead I forced him to chose, son against son.

Insanity took me at his murder and now I die with bloodied hands and soul. Father, do you still love me?

Someone trickle water on my face, a soft voice whispering words I cannot hear. Nerdanel, is that you? No… No… I forgot… Nerdanel is not here. Nerdanel the wise stood strong where I faltered. One of our sons then, Macalaurë… the one with her voice.

I have cursed them, damned them and bound them to suffer. My own sons. I struggle to breath, to release them from the oath I forced upon them but instead I choke. I am dying. Please, my sons…. Forgive me…

The Baby Thranduil Drabble Series

2005-08-31T03:27:00Z

Title: The Baby Thranduil Series
Author: Rei-hime
Pairing: Elrond/Oropher
Rating: PG (overall)
Warnings: Mild slash; mpreg; fluff; Gil-galad abuse.
Summary: Elrond and Oropher raise their new son in Lindon as best they can.
Disclaimer: I own the little doll that shows up in a few of the drabbles. That's about it. ^ ^
Notes: Series not completed in the slightest; I'm certain to write more. For the second drabble, "Fidelity," I'm going by the theory that the name "Thranduil" comes from "tharanduil" which means "across the great river," which is where Oropher takes his son when they journey to the Wilderlands. And for "Heredity" Elrond's grandmother was Idril Celebrindal, daughter of Turgon, king of Gondolin.

~*~

Nothing To Be Done

By Rei-hime

Arms circled him from behind, strong arms, prompting him to lie dutifully against a warm chest. “Well?”

The other set his chin on his captive’s head, his breath stirring hair the color of bark. “It’s as we already knew. You shall stay here, and I will take care of you. After that, I do not know.”

“Yes, I suppose there’s really nothing else to be done about it.” He watched, smiling faintly, as strong fingers came to splay across a swollen belly. “Elrond?”

“Yes?”

Oropher relaxed a bit more in their embrace. “What do you think of the name Thranduil?”

~*~

Fidelity

By Rei-hime

Oropher cradled his newborn son close, his face glowing with maternal delight.

“Oh, Elrond, he’s absolutely perfect! Our beautiful baby boy!” He smiled at the sparkle in the sapphire eyes. “Thranduil. That’s your name. And that’s where we’ll go when you’re older, to see the river and the woods.”

The child cooed and squirmed happily at this; Oropher nearly burst. “He understands me!! Elrond, he’s so smart already!!”

Elrond smiled, embracing Oropher from behind. “He is extraordinary, isn’t he? That sweet face, those bright blue eyes, that golden hair...” He stiffened.

Oropher blinked. “Elrond?”

“Oropher... love? Why is he blonde?”

~*~

Heredity

By Rei-hime

Oropher peered up at his lover curiously. “What did you say, Elrond-nin?”

Elrond was staring at the bundle nestled in Oropher’s arms. “His hair. How did he get blonde hair?”

“From his Vanyar blood, I imagine.” He smiled fondly and tickled the child. “My precious golden boy.”

“Vanyar?! When were you with a Vanya?”

Oropher played with Thranduil’s tiny fingers. “Pardon, love?”

“Was it more than once?” Elrond pulled him closer. “I don’t understand. I thought I was good to you.”

“Elrond, I haven’t the faintest idea... Oh.” He laughed merrily and cuffed Elrond’s ear. “Idiot! Your grandmother was Vanyarin!”

~*~

Foreshadowing

By Rei-hime

Thranduil stretched out his tiny arms, straining for the doll Oropher held just out of his reach.

"Oropher, stop being cruel," Elrond said disapprovingly. "Give him the doll."

"No. Find a different one."

"You know he only likes that one. He'll cry all night if he doesn't have it. Just give it to him so we can all sleep."

"I will not."

"Oropher, you're being ridiculous! Give your child his doll before you make him cry!"

"Oh, alright," Oropher sighed, reluctantly lowering the toy. Thranduil cooed happily and snuggled the plush Dwarf.

"I just have a bad feeling about this..."

~*~

Child's Play

By Rei-hime

Oropher was on the nursery floor, playing with Thranduil. Elrond sat behind him, kissing his cheek.

"What is our little genius up to?"

"Playing with his blocks." Oropher smiled. "He's been building all morning."

The toddler had arranged four walls of blocks to create a small, square enclosure. Satifised with it's height, he siezed his Dwarf doll and babbled to it sternly before placing it neatly in the enclosure and beaming at his parents.

Elrond stared. "Did he just make a dungeon for his doll?"

Thranduil giggled and clapped.

Oropher sighed. "We need to take that thing away from him."

~*~

Shiny

By Rei-hime

Thranduil’s bright eyes flashed greedily as he crawled up his father’s shoulder.

“Shiny!” the toddler cried, grasping the silver circlet framing Elrond’s brow. “My shiny!”

Oropher chuckled, pulling his son back. “Not yet, pen-neth. Your sweet head isn’t big enough for crowns.”

“Think you’re a lord already, do you?” Elrond grinned, joining in the teasing.

Gil-galad chose that moment to approach them, glaring at Thranduil when he grabbed his fingers curiously.

“Brute,” Oropher whispered once the king left, cradling Thranduil protectively.

Elrond blinked. “What’s he got in his hand?”

Thranduil squealed, opening his fingers to show them Vilya.

“My shiny!!”

~*~

Ring of Fire

By Rei-hime

“I gave it back,” Elrond announced, returning to his family. “He thought it fell off his finger, and I didn’t bother to argue.”

Oropher sighed in relief, bouncing Thranduil on his knee.

“But it seems Narya did the same.” Elrond looked at his small son. “Did you take a pretty red ring, melme?”

“Wed shiny,” Thranduil nodded.

“You did? Where is it?”

“Wed all gone!” he proclaimed, holding his arms out. “Yummy.”

Elrond looked from smiling face to chubby stomach with growing horror. “Oh, merciful Valar…”

Oropher groaned, slumping in his chair.

“Well… We will get it back pretty soon…”

~*~

Animal Cracker

By Rei-hime

“What does the kitty say, Thranduil?” Elrond asked, holding up a stuffed animal for his son.

“Meow!” the toddler squealed.

“Very good,” Oropher cooed. “And how does the doggie go?”

“Woof!”

Elrond held up a fuzzy pink doll. “And this one?”

“Piggy goes ‘Oink, oink’!” He laughed, snuggling his favorite doll. “Dwarfy goes ‘Grr’!”

Oropher giggled, picking Thranduil up and kissing him. “That’s right, melme, my brilliant boy.”

“Gil-galad’s coming,” Elrond said, hurriedly clearing away the toys, while Oropher muttered under his breath.

Thranduil blinked curiously at his mother then pointed to the High King and beamed.

“Cow goes ‘Moo’!”

silmfics @ 2005-08-29T20:25:00

2005-08-30T00:29:15Z

Title: Ready, Steady, Go – Russandol’s Promise
Author: Rei-hime
Rating: G
Cast: The Sons of Feanor
Disclaimer: I do not own the sons of Feanor, nor the original song. I lay claim to the reworked lyrics, if I may.
Notes: “Ready, Steady, Go” by L’Arc~en~Ciel is the second (and most recognized) opening song to “Fullmetal Alchemist,” one of my favorite anime series. The song, the series’ storyline, and the main characters have always reminded me of the Sons of Feanor and their search for the Silmarils. I looked up the Japanese and English translation of the lyrics (found here - http://www.animelyrics.com/anime/fmalchemist/readysteadygo.htm), and at first just started to rewrite the English lyrics so they fit the rhythm of the song sung in Japanese, but then I was inspired to further rework the song as words spoken by Maedhros to his brothers. The unaltered text is Maedhros’s words, the italicized text is his brothers echoing, and the bolded/italicized text is all seven brothers together.

~*~

Ready, Steady – can’t hold us back.
Ready, Steady – give me good luck.
Ready, Steady – never look back.
Let’s get started – Ready, Steady, Go!

The scenery is passing us swiftly,
Whirling right in front of our eyes.
There’s no time to get distracted.
We have to stay focused on our vow.

There is no map that can lead us.
Our beating hearts are our only guides.
We’ll seek our own no matter what.
They’re right within our grasp – can’t you feel them now?

Keep running on (quickly now).
Don’t wait - we’re almost there.
Bound to this fate, there’s nothing we can do but see it through to the end.

Your voices call (echoing).
Don’t fear - I’m right beside you.
Just follow me and hurry, I promise I will lead you right, so - Ready, Steady, Go!

Though all the powers of this world are against us,
And there’s no safety above or below,
We will not fall onto our knees.
To ourselves and our Oath we must be true.

Keep on holding fast to each other.
Whatever happens, don’t ever let go,
Because when we stand strong together,
I can see the real treasure is you.

Keep running on (quickly now).
Don’t wait - we’re almost there.
Bound to this fate, there’s nothing we can do but see it through to the end.

Your voices call (echoing).
Don’t fear - I’m right beside you.
Just follow me and hurry, I promise I will lead you right, so - Ready, Steady, Go!

(Are you ready?)

Ready, Steady – can’t hold us back.
Ready, Steady – give me good luck.
Ready, Steady – never look back.
Let’s get started – Ready, Steady, Go!

Our burdened hearts (all as one),
Beat hard beneath the heavens.
The fire in our souls and each other’s hands to hold are all we need in this life.

I know we’ll win (we can try),
If we can stand together.
The sun is shining brightly, and we’ve nothing left to lose, so - Ready, Steady, Go!

Brothers, please – trust me.

~*~

Heh, thanks for indulging me. I'll have some actual stories to post later.

Silent Sanctuary - Prologue

2005-06-19T15:07:32Z

Title: Silent Sanctuary Prologue
Author: Uli/ford_of_bruinen (ford_of_bruinen@yahoo.co.uk )
Rating: R- NC-17 over all. (This part PG/PG-13)
Pairing: Not yet revealed.
Disclaimer: No characters in this belong to me. I am just borrowing them for a short while and playing. No harm or insult is meant to come of this.
Beta: None (for this part). Thanks to Tux for a quite read-through for glaring errors and to Fishy for the name.
Archive: AFF.net, OEAM, http://ford-of-bruinen.secretstigma.net or http://groups.yahoo.com/group/the_ford_of_bruinen_update all others please ask.
Warning: This story may eventually have some aspects of consensual incest between adults.
Feedback: I am open to all feedback both good and bad, if you find linguistic, grammatical or plot errors that you want to point out then please do so, I will be eternally grateful for all feedback given.
Summary: Alone and alive he woke on the battlefield with no memories at all.
Author’s note: This story is a birthday present to Enis who was given this part on her birthday 2005. The following parts will all be part of the present.

Silent Sanctuary
Prologue

The smell around him hurt his nose when he woke. He moaned when he moved; hurt rushing through him, screaming at him. Whimpering he rolled up and waited for darkness to fall. He had no memories, no words to describe the carnage around him, the death, the broken bodies or the stench of blood and gore and burning flesh. All he knew was that he hurt.

The field was littered with bodies of orcs and men, of wolves and elves, all rotting together under the scorching sun while carrion birds and fell beasts prowled for food, hacking at bodies and fur and eyes. He was unsure of how to move so he did as the wild dogs he saw scavenging, forcing himself on all four as good as he could, one of his limbs refusing to bend and trailing behind him as he dragged himself forward, away from the sights and smells that scared him.

He crept a long time before he found tall figures with wide arms, reaching from the ground, and something about them soothed him. He found something clear and cold that was running over rocks and drank from it but he had no words for trees or water. When hunger gnawed in him he caught fish or gathered nuts and berries which he ate, just as the others around him did. He saw them and heard them sometimes, the wolf and the eagle, the rabbit and the deer but they avoided him. He wondered at times what he was; he did not understand the sounds they made to communicate. He did not belong.

The hurt ceased eventually and his curiosity and need to understand and belong grew. He looked at himself in the clear waters of lakes at times and saw something different than the animals in the wood. He did not have fur or feathers like them, he was palely brown and hairless, his paws looked different and his back haunches were longer, part of them trailing behind him as he moved. The fur he had grew only in a few patches and was thick and rugged and black. He had no memory so seeing another creature such as himself.

The world around him changed any times, from warm and bright to cold and dark, the ground covered in whiteness and the rivers frozen. He was always hungry when the world was white and it was during this season he hunted other things. He learnt how to catch rabbits and squirrels and he ate them raw, as a wolf. Their skins were warm and soft, he discovered and so he saved them, heaping them over himself as he slept in a cave. He found small sharp bones that prickled his skin and he awkwardly used them to make holes in the furs before he strung them together with guts of his kills and so he made a fur for himself.

Many seasons had passed when he saw others, small broad creatures with fur on their faces, whom spoke in harsh voices that he did not understand. They wore skin that glittered in the light and carried things that looked sharp and hurtful; they also walked on their back haunches. He followed them for many days and nights, intrigued by such strange beings, before he dared to sneak up on them in the dark of night. His hands were drawn to a long stick of something cold that glittered n the faint light and it was sharp. As his hand closed around the strangely familiar leather-bound bit at the top he heard them shout and scream. Scrambling he left, as fast and quietly as he could, his hand still wrapped around the strange thing he had found. It felt like a part of him that he could not remember. They searched for him, hunted him but he hid until they were gone. Something inside him cried as he lost them, he had never seen beings so similar to himself and he wondered if he was one of them.

Curiosity made him stretch as he had seen them do, clinging to a tree for balance as he tried standing on his hind legs. His balance was poor but something in this felt right and so he spent many days learning to stand and learning to move. He did not move as them. One of his hind legs would not straighten fully and so his gait was clumsy and uneven.

The seasons continued to move in a predictable pattern, from white grounds to soft grasses and his furs grew warmer and better made as the years passed. He did not stay in one place; he roamed as the wolves, restlessly searching for something. He found a large forest after a long time and here he stayed for a while, growing familiar with the rivers and trees and finding small deserted caves to the north and east. He made his home there. He found a wolf cub deserted by its tribe, the runt he suspected as he had seen the small and helpless deserted before and he took it in. He was not sure why but it was company, another soul to share his loneliness. The cub grew and played and stayed with him as did the falcon which he found some seasons later, fallen out of its nest. That too he took in and nurtured and so there were three of them, lost and discarded by their own kinds.

The seasons had turned again, going towards cold and white when he heard voices that tugged at him. It was during the dark that the rich, musical sounds reached him, called for him and he approached them carefully. He saw others like him, seated on big four legged creatures that he had not seen before. He was unsure why but his chest constricted, it was hard to breathe as he watched the two at the back, one as dark as himself and the other had hair the same colour as autumn leaves. He followed as well as he could, drawn to them, longing to throw himself at them but he still did not understand the words they spoke among each other.

He lost them for some time, the four legged beasts faster than his own limping gait and when he found them he wished he had not. The skies were red and thick of smoke and screams rang towards him. It was the scent that made him turn and flee, the same smell that had hurt his nose when he first woke and he curled up against a tree once he thought himself far enough away, the falcon and wolf sitting with him. Shivering he buried his face in warm fur, wondering what he was, why he felt such strong familiarity with creatures that produced smells that evil and hurtful.

Voices made him stiffen, voices that he could not understand but something about them hurt his ears, they were, he thought, not kind.

A small, muted whimpering made him hesitate when the voices were gone. It reminded him of small hurt cubs deserted and so he hesitantly walked closer. He paused when he saw them. Two small shapes, same as him but cubs left alone in the night. They clung to each other, shivering of cold and fear and his heart went out to them. He was unsure how long he watched them as they clung together before they started walking and he followed. Eventually they both laid down, curled around each other. He reached out and took the cloak of animal skins that hung over his shoulders. Carefully he smoothed it over the sleeping cubs and sat, watching them. Did his tribe leave the runts of the litter to die as well? Somehow the thought of that felt wrong.

Once again he heard a voice, calling out unfamiliar sounds as it came closer. He dragged thick branches over the exhausted cubs that still slept, covering them in undergrowth until they could not be seen and then he hid himself and watched. He watched as the one with hair as flame came closer, calling the same sounds and he followed, determined to keep the cubs safe. Once again the eerie familiarity of this one came to him, making his insides ache of longing but he remained hidden. The cubs had been left to die.

Once the stranger was far from the cubs he turned and went back. They were awake now, staring at him with wide, suspicious eyes and making those strange sounds at him. He tilted his head and sat down; baring his neck to show that he would not harm them but unsure if they understood him better than what he could understand them. They were well-fed cubs, he thought as he watched them, their fur glossy and shiny in the same colour as the nuts that he gathered during autumn. Bright colours covered their bodies and he reached out curiously, touching the colours. His fingers met with something his mind half recognised, he had worn such things once, of that he was certain.

The cubs stopped chattering, stopped making those noises he could not understand, and for a long time they sat there, staring at each other. He was unsure of what to do, it had been easier with the wolf and the falcon, both small that he could carry them easily, hide them away from wind and weather until they were safe, stronger; these cubs of his own kind were different, larger, suspicious.

The wind blew colder and once again voices drifted through the woods, making the little ones smell sharp of fear. He rose and stepped away, towards his cave, his shelter, before he turned back towards them. He hoped they would understand.

The cubs remained where they were and he went back, circling them restlessly before trying to walk away, to show that they needed to move. It took a long while before the cubs rose to follow and even longer to walk back to safety, their short legs moving slowly and leaving tracks that needed covering.

Dark fell before they reached the network of caves but it did not matter, he did not let them stop. They moved quietly, no sounds escaping the small cubs before they stood below the roof of their new home.

He curled up in a few of the furs that he had gathered over the years, leaving the others for the cubs to use. Slowly and quietly the chattering started again, small voices making sounds that frustrated him while they looked at each other, at him expectantly. He did not know what they wanted, he did not understand and frustration rose in him. Maybe they were still different from him, the way that the bird with him differed from the smaller birds whose noises were pleasant to the ear.

One of the cubs darted outside and returned again, carrying twigs and grass that he dropped on the floor. A strange sharp noise, like rocks knocking against each other repeated, over and over until a flicker of light sprang from between the cub’s paws and settled into the dirt he hard dragged in.

Hissing he moved back from the smell and sight of forest killer, curling against the cave wall as he stared in horror. The cubs moved closer to the red heat, the scorcher, and their chattering increased. Warmth filled the cave, and smoke, but the fire did not spread this time, it did not leap from tree to tree, but stayed in the twigs and grasses. Tamed. Carefully he inched closer, distrustful and entranced.

The same sound was repeated over and over but he ignored it until a small paw nudged his arm and made him jump.

The smaller cub looked at him insistently, putting his hand against his chest, repeating the same sound before looking at him. Uncomprehending he stared at the little one before he opened his mouth, trying to form the noise of the cub. His voice was hoarse, a croak only, but he tried again and again until the small one showed bright white teeth and bent his head.

“Elurín,” the cub repeated, putting the small hand on his chest again before.

The other cub moved closer, cloud coloured eyes filled with distrust, as he started the process of the smaller one over, pointing at himself and making a different sound.

Again and again he tried to satisfy the cubs until he managed the sounds they made. “Eluréd.” “Elurín.” He had no idea what they meant.

They moved closer, putting their paws on his chest and looked up at him with expectant eyes but he did not know what they wanted. Once again their eyes locked before the larger one tapped his paw against the broad chest, repeating another sound.

He looked down on the tiny cub that kept swatting him and obediently repeated the new sound until they both seemed satisfied.

“Dínenír,” the older cub said finally, and sat back.

He rose and went to where he had hidden the meat he caught less than a week previous and saw the small noses of the cubs scrunch up as he tore parts of, offering them to his new family before taking a leg to gnaw on for himself.

The cubs prodded the meat and avoided looking at him before they scampered back to the fire, throwing their dinner on it until it smelled of burnt flesh and death. He lowered his own dinner as his stomach churned at the stench.

Confusion and fear, longing and want fought for control inside him. Their noises and insistence for him to repeat them, the tame forest killer that woke under their hands, scared him but the other side, the way his tears stung at the noises, the light touches of their paws in the way between cubs and parents and the way they looked at him made him want to please them, hungry to belong and to protect.

As the dark deepened the small ones curled up under the heavy furs and slept.

He did not, he sat at the opening of the cave, watching and listening for anything that could threaten or harm, he would keep them safe now. They were his cubs now.

'Quenta Silmarillion' movie news

2005-06-12T22:09:29Z

Crossposting. Sorry!

"Quenta Silmarillion" movie trailer premiere

Unfortunately it looks like nothing more will be made. At least for the moment.

As the director's team say they were already threaten for 'defamation of the good name of Curufinwë Fëanáro and sons'. Fëanorian lawyer claims to cancel premiere of the movie 'based upon such unreliable resources as the infamous "Red Book of Westmarch" written by a Hobbit. A Hobbit!'

Fëanorians are not the only unsatisfied side of the conflict. Most of the House of Finwë nobilities protest against the title of the first episode. In their opinion "Nightfall in the hearts of Noldor" title suggests that Noldor were the only group to blame in the history of The War of the Jewels. 'And what about Morgoth!?' they ask.

Exactly - what about the dark Vala? Here comes the answer. According to words of his spokesman 'Lord Melkor is really disappointed with diminution of his part in the story and cutting out the whole "Ainulindalë" where his voice sounded most beautifully'. It looks like Morgoth has forgotten that "Ainulindalë" is not a part of "Quenta Silmarillion".

If it was not enough, others protest as well, including a group of Hobbits protesting against the racial discrimination...

Director's team decided to postpone the premiere planned for sumer 2709. With invaluable help of Sirielle they plan to show the movie December 3756.

To see the 'trailer' and the 'movie poster'(fixed a bit) follow the links:

Nightfall in the hearts of Noldor

Noldorin soldier
Just joking!

Suggested music - tracks 11 & 12 from 'The Passion of the Christ' o.s.t. It could give you an image what the real QS trailer should look like.
I can't stop listening to these and the whole soundtrack!

Invitation to new awards

2005-05-31T20:09:03Z

We would like to welcome you to The Big Anonymous Fanfiction Tales Awards (Baftas) which are running for the first time in the Tolkien fandom.

Nominations will open on June 1st 2005 at http://www.livejournal.com/community/baftas/

The Baftas are intended to try to bring a quality voters' choice award into the Tolkien fandom. Whereas many put higher trust in judged awards, we do not, as judged awards are subject to a limited number of people reading and judging and their personal preferences. We believe that recognition of quality can be done in this way. This is why we have created detailed forms that need to be filled in by every voter. This is why we try to make the readers look closely at the stories they read before they vote. We are not saying we are perfect, we are saying that we have something we want to try.

Please try it with us, prove that good fanfiction can win awards.

These awards are quality based and all fiction, art or poetry nominated will go through a rigorous voting process. Nominating and voting is run by all who wish to participate through filling in nomination and voting forms.

We work under strict rules to ensure fairness and quality and have taken as thorough measures as we can to discourage all kinds of cheating.

Please have a look before dismissing us.

Kind Regards,

Admin Anonymous

[Disclaimer: The Arrangers behind Baftas wish to remain anonymous to minimise fandom politics, fangirling and to promote an award system based on quality over quantity or number of friends.]

MPQP Complete!

2005-05-10T22:14:55Z

I can't believe I forgot to post this here: the long genfic Silmfic Magweth Pengolodh: The Question of Pengolod is now complete. The link page has the details of this novel-length story. Parts 10 and 11 and 12/Epilogue are up, with glimpses of Khazad-Dum and the Seige of Eregion (cameos by Narvi, a hobbit, Elrond, Celebrian, and Melpomaen), and the conclusion of the story, which brings it around to the beginning. There's also a downloadable PDF version of the whole thing.

'The First Snow'

2005-04-09T00:01:39Z

Aiya Eruhíni!

My first post here :)

Story. The First Snow - at my DA account or FF.net site.
Winter morning in Himring, the siege of Angband time. Short vignette, Maedhros POV. Rated G. Canon, I believe.
If you choose FF.net, here is a small image to the story.

Gallery. My vision of a Fëanorian Soldier and Findekáno (unfinished forever?). Both links to DA (large images).

Namárië!

FIC: Memories Of Findekáno

2005-03-08T19:59:41Z

Title: Memories Of Findekáno
Author: ford_of_bruinen (ford_of_bruinen@yahoo.co.uk )
Rating: R
Pairing: Maedhros/Fingon
Disclaimer: No characters in this belong to me. I am just borrowing them for a short while and playing. No harm or insult is meant to come of this.
Beta: Eni
Archive: AFF.net, OEAM, http://ford-of-bruinen.secretstigma.net or http://groups.yahoo.com/group/the_ford_of_bruinen_update all others please ask.
Warning: Incest between cousins. Canon Character Death
Feedback: I am open to all feedback both good and bad, if you find linguistic, grammatical or plot errors that you want to point out then please do so, I will be eternally grateful for all feedback given.
Summary: Nirnaeth Arnoediad is over and Maedhros remembers.
Author's Note: The Sindarin versions of all names can be found at the end of the story for those that may wish to use them as reference.

It is chaos around us. The battle is over and we have lost, the dreams I had of peace and redemption are shattered, destroyed by the betrayal of Men and the underestimates that I made of our enemy. We have lost so many; the ground behind us is littered with corpses and we are forced to leave them behind as we flee. Where are my brothers, I wonder, the young ones I have always sought to protect? I hope they all stand.

It is nightfall when we finally stop to care for our wounded. Tiredly I sit, leaning my back against a tall oak as I listen to the sounds around me. We have failed. I have failed.

I hear footsteps and I know them well. "Any news, Makalaurë?"

You sit down beside me, quietly. I can feel the weariness that radiates off you, as tired as me, as weary as my own soul. "All our brothers live," you say. "None seriously wounded; scratches and bruises but nothing worse."

There is something in your voice that I cannot place, as if you are hiding something from me. I cast you a glance but you do not meet my eyes, you do not speak, your dark eyes staring into the night. A shiver of unease runs through me; never before have you, my brother, hesitated to speak to me. Fear rises in me; something is very wrong.

"Makalaurë?"

Before you have time to speak, another flies at me. For a moment the raven hair and grey eyes lighten my heart, calm me, but his hair is unbraided, his grey eyes brighter, bluer and his figure slighter. There is hatred in his face as he looks at me and my heart shatters. Refusing to believe, I tear my eyes from him, searching for reassurance in your eyes. From the look of your face I know.

"How many more, Nelyafinwë?" he screams. "He died because of your damned pride, because of your cursed oath! The only reason that he fought in a war that he did not believe in was because you asked him! Yet you did not come. You did not keep your own vows! The only thing you did for him was throw him to the Balrogs."

Every word is a stab in my heart as I lean heavily against the tree, my legs weak, the air too thick to breathe.

~~~*~~~

The faint cry of a newborn carried through the air and I smiled as I held out my arms to accept the child in my arms. Our mothers, mine and the babe's, wanted me to stand there, to present my cousin to the court, the proud parents behind me. I was honoured that they asked, for I knew well the dislike my father had for his brother, but we did not speak of such things.

The child in my arms had strong lungs and already his head was crowned by soft raven hair. The crying ceased when I took him in my arms, clear grey eyes staring up at me.

I turned, stretching my arms out and turning towards the court. "Findekáno," I said loudly, pitching my voice to echo of the walls. "Son of Nolofinwë and Anairë, grandson of Finwë. Let us be grateful for his birth and greet him among ourselves as one beloved."

~~~*~~~

If I had only known how true my words would come to be. Findekáno, beloved, adored. I raise my eyes to Turukáno, searching for words to give my condolences, to offer my grief for his brother's death, but I find none. What words could ever ease such a loss, soothe such a grievous wound to us all?

Wordlessly I meet his eyes that shine[ with hatred. I want to turn my gaze away but I am trapped, trapped in the accusation I see in his eyes and in my own guilt. My soul cries, the shards of my heart cut my chest. Does that help, would that ease his pain, I wonder. But I can say nothing, the grief and pain too new, too raw, too deep.

~~~*~~~

He was a delightful child, eager to learn and full of life and joy and love. Early on, I lost count of the injured animals that he managed to find and bring to me; some I could save and some I could not. Each time one passed away, he cried, his grief deep and raw just as his laughter and joy at other times were rich and pure.

I spent much time with him in his early days. How could I not when he sought out my company? So I taught him what I knew. I taught him to read and write, I taught him the arts of my father as much as I shared them and, as he grew, I taught him to use a bow and how to ride. He was an eager student, loving each new thing he learnt and spending hours at perfecting himself. His skills in archery soon surpassed my own, as did his skills in horsemanship, for there was a love between him and his horse that I and mine did not have. I taught him other things as well, the skill of knife and sword, and he had a grace in him that belied his years and build.

He was a beloved child and youngster, his friends were many and close to his heart and even my father, who disliked all other of Indis’ breed, suffered his presence with a smile, but then father always loved knowledge.

Soon the other children had grown tall and strong, and other curiosities woke in them. Findaráto and Amarië and Turukáno and Elenwë often went for long walks and more than once had I, by accident, caught Irissë and my brothers exchanging kisses and caresses. More often than not, Findekáno spent his time with me in those days, his friends experimenting in realms that held no interest for him, for there was an innocence in him that time had not yet touched.

I remember one day, a good while after his majority, maybe as much as two decennia of the years under the sun. We were lying in the grass by one of the lakes, resting and drying out after a day of swimming, when I decided to breach the subject with him.

“Are there none who tempt your interest, Findekáno?” I asked, trying to figure out why this Elf, tall and gangly and highly loved, was never seen with a sweetheart, no whispers, no rumours of romance around him.

He turned his head and smiled lazily, his eyes still clear and innocent. “What do you mean?” he asked, curiously. “I have many friends who interest me highly, you among them.”

I smile at his innocence. “Your brother is set to bind with Elenwë soon, Findekáno. Have you no such longings?”

“Oh.” His voice was surprised, thoughtful, before he fell quiet for a long time, chewing on the tip of his braid and thinking deeply. “No,” he said eventually. “I never really did have such an interest. There is too much love in me for that.”

I laughed then. “Too much?”

“Yes,” he said seriously, suddenly seeming centuries older than he was. “I love fully, Maitimo, all around me I love with all that I am. How can I cast that aside and give love to one person only?”

“You do not stop loving others by taking a mate, Findekáno,” I replied, amused and yet slightly disturbed, as if something in that statement carried a truth I did not understand.

“But you do,” he insisted. “The love you have for others changes and becomes less, less rich, less important. I love all creatures too highly for that. I have no wish to share my soul with another in that way, nor will I ever feel such a need.”

My laughter grew. “You sound so young, cousin,” I finally managed to say, between the laughter. “Once day you will fall and I will remind you of this discussion.”

He laughed as well then and his eyes glittered mischievously. “I may,” he admitted. “Life is all about changes.”

It suddenly struck me that the Elf next to me was no longer the child I had tutored and protected. He was a grown Elf, tall and gangly, with rich, lustrous raven hair and pale skin, and he was beautiful. Shocked at my own thoughts, I rose and gathered our things, claiming the hour was growing late.

We spent more days like that, lazy, sweet and innocent days of friendship, but I knew that my feelings had changed. I loved him differently now and his body called to my hands. I do not think he ever realised that things had changed. Never did I speak of my feelings and desires with him for I wanted him free to choose and love; I wanted him happy and carefree. In some way I wanted him to marry and sire a child; it felt right somehow to think of him as a father.

It was after one of those days that I arrived home to find the household packed and waiting. My grandfather was talking to my father but I did not hear their words and my brothers were silent. Mother was pale, her eyes reddened by tears.

“Your father is moving his household to Formenos,” she said as she saw me.

Confused, I looked at her and my brothers, but none met my eyes. “In such a hurry?” My voice was mild.

“Father drew sword on Nolofinwë,” Makalaurë said, breaking the silence. “He is banished and we follow.”

A glance from father silenced him and I felt my heart freeze. Father drew sword on his own brother? “How long,” I asked, keeping my voice mild and calm.

“Twenty years.” It was mother that replied, her voice tense. “They will pass.”

I cast a glance over my shoulder with a sigh as they left. Twenty years in exile without a farewell to Findekáno. Maybe, I thought to myself, it would be a blessing for us both, a chance for Findekáno to meet someone suitable and fall in love. The thought made me feel empty.

The years passed slowly in exile; few words were received from Tirion and I found myself unable to question the few messengers that came, mostly from mother's kin. Makalaurë saw what I went through, he knew the questions I longed for, and so he asked them, braving our father's fury he asked after Nolofinwë's children, and so we heard about Turukáno's bonding to Elenwë and some years later about the birth of their daughter, Itarillë. Findekáno, it said, was loved by all and spent most of his time with Aikanáro and Angaráto. Did he love them, I wondered? Had his innocent assurances to take no mate changed? But I could not ask.

Summons came for our father to join the festival but he asked all others to remain behind, to make his attendance a public statement to the Valar of how he felt. We did not argue; even if my heart cried at a missed chance to see Findekáno again, I remained silent.

Then darkness fell, inexplicable and horrid, covering the land and halls in black, as a shroud of the dead we had been told about from the long travels. Melkor came and grandfather sent us all away, through the underground caves, before he greeted him. I am ashamed to admit that I fled with the others. At a time when I should have lifted my sword and defended my family, I fled.

Grandfather was dead when we returned and the Silmarilli, greatest of our father’s treasures, were gone.

Duty and guilt made me leave Formenos and travel to Taniquetil, a carrier of bad news, stumbling though the dark, lost. My father was standing in the ring of the Valar when I came and I saw no other. Even now, in a time of grief and pain, I longed for him and him alone, feeling like a traitor to my own family. Father's grief was terrifying, maddening and as he fled I followed, afraid he would cause harm to himself.

We returned some time later. Father could no longer be reasoned with, but we tried. We tried over and over to convince him to remain in what was left of our home and I lost count of the tears my mother cried as she reasoned, pleaded and begged, but father would not be calmed. It was with dread we followed him into Tirion and the square of the King.

Through the torchlight I saw him, one of the first to come out into the square, almost as tall as me and well grown into the formerly gangly body, muscles shifting under the shirt as he moved, and my mouth went dry. If I had thought him beautiful before...

Our eyes met over the heads of others and he smiled, a small, sweet smile for me alone, before his face went serious. I forgot to breathe. Beside me, my father raised his voice, but I did not listen as his voice rang over the square, my eyes, my mind, filled with him and him alone.

I do not know what it was that finally made me listen, maybe it was the draining of colour from Findekáno's face, maybe it was my mind screaming at me, but I listened in horror as father swore an oath that could not be broken. A shiver ran through me and before I knew what I was doing, almost as if a greater force had hold of my mind, I stepped forward, hearing myself repeat his words. My brothers stepped up behind me. Sweet Valar, the damage that we did that day can never be healed.

An argument broke out around the square and I listened with trepidation as Findekáno was one of those who argued most to follow, my mind screaming at him to stay quiet, to step away, but he did not. Of course he did not, his eagerness for all things new called him, the opportunity to see new lands. I knew then that no matter what the others would decide, Findekáno would still follow us.

Father tired of waiting and much as I wanted to linger I did not. We went with him, of course we did, the household of Finwë at Formenos. The only one who did not come was mother. I saw the tears on her face as she shook her head at us and turned. Mother was always the wisest of us.

We were silent as we left, grim and frozen inside, as we left our home behind. I wondered then if we would ever return. Father was fey and strange as he drove us on, tiring our horses on our way to the shores of the Teleri.

I was there when he argued with Olwë, wincing inside as pleading became insults but still, when the meeting was over and father told us to seize the ships, I am ashamed to admit that I did as told, no questions asked. I no longer know who raised the first blade, but my heart always suspected my father's temper behind it. Before we knew what was happening we were involved in something I had never thought would happen; not even in the darkest of my dreams had I thought that Elf would kill Elf, and still that is what we did.

At some stage I turned, saddened to see Findekáno and Turukáno in the midst of battle. I had hoped them spared this horror, but they were not.

There were few words after the ships were seized, most of us quiet and grieving, uneasy, but father pushed on, insanity reigning in his eyes. I did not seek Findekáno out. What words would I have had for him? What words would have made any difference after this?

A storm came and took many of the few ships we had, drowning several of our number, and still father refused to stop. We travelled far in silence, north towards the cold and ice that we had only heard about, the ships slowly sailing close to the shoreline, using what little shelter there was from winds and rains.

A dark figure awaited us when we reached the mountains and in a loud voice he told the truth, how the Teleri had been the attacked not the attackers, how we had spilt innocent blood, and I could taste the horror, the guilt and the disgust that the others had for us. We heard our fate that day, never to win our goal, to die of torment and by violence, and by grief. Some turned back that day. Arafinwë did, and by all that is still good I wish that Findekáno had as well, but he did not.

So the journey continued until we reached the long, white wasteland of the Helcaraxë. Once again we stopped and once again they argued. Father gathered us, me and my brothers, when all others looked away and told us what he wanted. It made sense. For some to cross first and send the ships back again for others until all had been brought. I did not question him and neither did the others. We simply followed, we sailed across the waters and we set foot upon the firm ground.

I questioned father then, as we set foot upon the new shores. “Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return,” I asked, innocent as a child, “and whom shall they bear here first? Findekáno?”

My father laughed. Strange and fey he was, his black hair whipping in the wind, as he denied me. None was to be sent back and so the ships burnt. I stood aside then, sickened by what we had become, what we had done. I stood alone. My brothers helped father, bearing the torches that betrayed those who had followed us, those who had killed for us. I turned away. I could not watch.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “They will turn back, Russandol.” Makalaurë's voice was soft. “They will not brave the ice.”

I wish I could believe him, but I could not. I knew Findekáno, I knew his pride, his passion when an idea had entered his head. “No,” I whispered in reply. “They will come, or die trying.”

There were no more words after that.

Our fires were seen. Father pressed inland too fast and too far, becoming separated from the rest of us and by the time we found him again he was wounded and dying. We drove the enemy away and bore father away from the scene of battle but we knew, as did he, that we had arrived too late. And so he made us swear the oath again, to continue what he had wanted, and we did. I do not know if the others believed in the words they spoke, I know that I did not. I no longer believed in our cause. Father passed there, on a hillside in a strange land, his spirit so fiery it burnt his body as it left and we could do nothing but watch the ashes scatter for the winds. Lost and alone.

I admit that I was desperate when the envoy came, admitting defeat and terms of surrender. Did I believe him? Of course not, but I saw a chance to maybe finish this insanity. The attack was not unexpected, but the size of their forces was, and those around me were slain.

Time passes whether you want it to or not. I do not dwell upon that time, months or years in captivity. What I remember is the cliff, the manacle around my wrist. Hunger and thirst can drive anyone mad, this is a knowledge that many share, and pain can break a soul and bring insanity. But it was neither of those that threatened to break me. It was the monotony. Each day the same as the next, cold, huger and thirst, pain that never dulled and the same landscape to watch. Nothing happened, nothing changed. You hallucinate after a time, your mind making up images, bringing back memories of other times; I did that. I remembered it all, my childhood and mother and father, my brothers. Only one did never enter my mind; at times the raven hair of Makalaurë twisted into braids and I forced myself to wake, to shatter the illusion. He was pure, innocent. There was no place for him here, in this cruel mockery of life.

So I cried, the day when a faint song floated through my isolation. The remnants of sanity gone. I forced my throat, that had made no sound for time uncounted, to take up the song. If this was to be my last hallucination, my last weak grasp at sanity, then I would enjoy it. In my fall I would kiss him, taste his palely golden skin, touch him as my dreams had long wished for. Let me have this last dream.

The song silenced soon after I took it up and a shiver of fear ran through me. Soon the song started again, louder, closer, and before long I saw him, scrambling over the rocks as he searched for my voice. I knew his cause to be useless, I knew he would not reach me and I wished he had not come.

I could tell the moment he saw me, those silver eyes widening in despair as he realised that which I had known. His way into danger had been without cause and he had failed. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he looked upon me, I guess I must have made quite a sight, broken as I was. Still there was one thing that he could give me. One last freedom that I had long been denied.

“Your arrows have always flown true,” I croaked, disuse hurting my throat, making the words sound thick and dulled. “Give me peace.”

He shook his head at first, clinging to hope.

“Findekáno,” I said, my voice surer this time. “Do not leave me to waste here, alone.”

I could see the sadness in his eyes as he raised his bow, tears clouding his sight as he prayed to the Valar. The irony did not fail to reach me. They had deserted us, turned their backs in horror at what we had done and still he asked them for aid? It was a sweetness left since childhood, I guessed.

But the eagle came. As he released the arrow, his prayer was answered. I do not remember much of what happened then; I remember the eagle coming towards me, Findekáno on its back, both his hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade before he swung it, using all his force, and I was falling. Even then, through the haze of pain and confusion, of freedom, I noted that the Valar had answered. That is how highly Findekáno was loved. I cannot have been falling long before strong arms wrapped around me. The impact and breaking of the fall would have made me vomit, if my stomach had still been capable of such things. I felt myself dragged across the back of the bird, held securely in Findekáno's arms, and then all went black.

I could feel the rough pine needles and leaves and branches below my back when I woke and I marvelled at their softness. The sky above me was darkening slowly but I could still see the fresh green in the trees above me. I was lying on my back. After a while I started wondering why my hand and arm were throbbing and I flexed my fingers experimentally. There was nothing. No feeling of movement. Panic rose in me as I struggled to remember.

“I had no other choice, no second chance.”

I turned my head and looked at him. He was sitting with his back to a tree, pale and drawn and covered in blood as he leaned his head against the silvery bark of the birch, his eyes closed. I remained silent as I watched him, his face showing grief that had not been there before.

“I hoped you would turn back,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“We had already forsaken that option,” he answered, a coldness in his rich voice that had not been there before, a distance that cut deep.

I did not wish to ask, seeing the pain of loss on his face so clearly I knew that I did not want to know. “You managed what none had done before,” I said instead.

He smiled then, a bitter, twisted smile. “With less than half of our host,” he answered. “That is how many were lost on the ice, Nelyafinwë, once we realised that the ships burnt.”

My mouth was dry and I had no words to offer him in comfort, no explanation, no excuse. Never before had he called me by my fathername and never before had his voice been so careless towards me. I wondered how deeply we had hurt the innocence inside him. I wanted to beg him to be quiet but I listened with horror.

“We froze as we crossed the ice, food and water running out far too early. Some froze to death in their sleep, others were taken by hidden cracks in the surface and others yet were taken as the ice behind us broke and fell away into water. Elenwë was lost that way. I put Itarillë in my father's arms and dragged Turukáno with me, away from the water, step by step until we reached living lands again. You have no friends among those you betrayed.”

“Still you came to find me,” I whispered, wanting to find some hint of warmth, some glimpse of the child he had been.

“I would not leave any creature, beast or traitor to suffer needlessly,” he replied, his voice flat.

I turned my head away then, closing my eyes. His words cut deeper, hurt more than the lack of my hand, than the torment I had been through. Still I could not blame him; it was me and my closest kin who had changed him, who had hardened the sweetness and stolen the innocence in him. Maybe that hurt as much as his disregard for me. The silence stretched. I did not attempt to talk to him again as I shivered from the cold against my naked body.

He sighed only a few minutes later and moved, taking me into his arms until my back rested against his chest, and wrapped his arms around me. “Still,” he said, sounding resigned. “I suspect you have more than paid for your part in what you have done. Take your rest, Maitimo. You will need it.”

I could feel his body heat surrounding me and I allowed myself to relax, soothed by his use of my mothername, by the warmth that was creeping back into his voice. Despite how deeply I had harmed him, he still cared. My Findekáno of the gentle heart.

We walked for a long time, he carrying me, dragging me along, refusing to leave me even when I begged him, even when the enemy was almost upon us again. After a long time we reached the stronghold of Makalaurë. I do not think anyone recognised us at first, me in particular, and once they realised who Findekáno was they drew their swords against him. I do not know how it would have ended had not Makalaurë himself come out to see what caused such disruption. After that we found food and rest.

Findekáno stayed with us for over a season as I healed, slowly. He was the one who denied me death when I begged for it, the one who demanded that I to learn to eat and write and use my sword with one hand only and, despite how much I screamed at him, despite my rage, my despair and my black moods, he refused to give up. We switched roles in those days: he became the teacher and I the student and slowly we rebuilt the friendship between us as I grew stronger. Soon the nightmares of my time of torture were broken by hot, sticky dreams of Findekáno, his muscular body plaguing dreams both sleeping and awake.

My soul cried for him, for his touches and kisses, but I remained silent. There were many nights when I saw him with my brothers, laughing and joking, as carefree and full of ease as ever, apart from a slight shadow that remained in his silvery eyes, a touch of sadness that went deep. He had grown up. Those nights that followed such evenings I slept little, tormenting myself with dreams of what could not be, and the mornings after I was irritable and short tempered.

He left shortly before the winter came, the sadness and unease in his eyes deepening as the cold grew and his departure from us was all but a flight, a flight back to his family, to those he had crossed the ice with. I did not bid him farewell.

I relinquished my Kingship that spring, kneeling by the feet of Nolofinwë as I pledged myself to him as a Lord to his King. My brothers were not pleased. I did not see Findekáno at that time and over the years that followed I saw him only rarely, in councils and at the Great Feast of Reuniting. I treasured those times together and he too seemed to find some comfort in the sharing of wine and tales until dawn came. The legend around him grew as he drove back a dragon, the tales increasing, and the bards and storytellers loved him. Fingon the Valiant they called him in the strange tongue of the Sindar.

One year we were called, or maybe we were simply invited, by our King to join his court and we came, greeted by the news that Findekáno, his heir, was about to swear his loyalty to a maid of Doriath, to be pledged for one year before the day of their bonding ceremony. We had not had any news or rumours before we left and each word cut deep into me, but I kept my dignity.

That night and the days that followed were not days that I will ever remember fondly, the slow torture of feigning happiness in front of one who knew me better than others. Often Makalaurë's hands found my shoulders for a comforting touch, innocent enough to look like nothing but fondness between brothers. Of that I was grateful for even breathing hurt those days.

The feasting lasted for days and I watched them. Tall, broad Findekáno and his frail looking, colourless betrothed. That she loved him was obvious but his feelings were harder to read.

It was on the last night of feasting that I found myself tired of the dance and the music, tired of hiding behind my lies. She was dancing with her sisters and laughing; of him there was no trace. I walked through the corridors, up to the small but precious library, and stopped once the door opened. He was sitting on the window ledge, one leg bent in front of him, the other on the floor and his back against the stone. His head was turned away as he looked outside, a shroud of sadness surrounding him.

“Findekáno?” I said quietly and closed the door behind me as I entered.

He did not move. I walked over to a table in the corner and filled a goblet with rich red wine, noticing the similar goblet that he nonchalantly held in his hand. I sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs and watched him.

“I remember a conversation between you and me,” I said finally, my voice warm and amused. “You were not much past your majority and we discussed the nature of love.”

“I remember.” His voice was quiet and he did not move, his eyes still looking at the stars.

“I told you then that time would change your mind.” I smiled at the memory of the young man, so sweet in his innocence.

“Like time changed yours?” he said dryly.

I looked at him, wondering about his tone. “Not all of us were made to marry,” I answered eventually, aching at his beauty.

“No,” he admitted with a sigh. “Not all of us are.”

Unease rose in me as I looked at him, wondering how to put my sudden suspicions into words. “Findekáno,” I said, hesitantly. “Do you love her?”

He sighed again and turned his face, meeting my eyes for the first time since I had entered the room. “Yes,” he said, “but not in the way you mean. I told you once that I could not love that way and to that I hold.”

I shook my head. “Then why do you marry her?”

He laughed at that, a tired, old sound that seemed wrong coming from him. “Out of duty,” he replied. “Out of the love I hold for our people. I am my father's heir and that means more than fighting his battles. Turukáno will have no son and so that duty falls onto me.”

I was horrified. “To sell your happiness for...”

He interrupted me with a small shake of his head. “I sell nothing, Maitimo. I give freely, out of love. This will bring some sort of kinship between the Noldor and the Sindar, it will benefit us all as we need the unity if we are ever to win this battle. She knows my feelings and asks for nothing more than friendship and loyalty from me, and that I can give in abundance.”

“Yet she loves you,” I argued.

“Yes,” he admitted. “She does. I will give my all to make her happy if I can.”

I did not know what to say after that but noted with sadness the new traces of grief and pain that had found a home in his eyes. Life had not always been kind to Findekáno, or maybe his sense of duty was too strong to allow such kindness. I hoped that she would bring him peace and happiness in return.

We did not speak much more that night as we shared our wine in silence, both of us lost to our own thoughts.

I did not see him for years after that. I listened eagerly to all and any news that I could find about him. His bonding ceremony had been a feast not to be missed but I had been held up on my own borders at the time and sent my apologies together with the finest stallion and mare from my stables. A year later, almost to the day, his son was born and we all rejoiced at the news. Once I was on my own, however, I found myself at the window, staring at the stars and wondering if he was happy. Had his friendship with his Lady blossomed into love? I hoped he loved the child at least. Leaning my head against the cold glass pane, I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself, and for the first time I can recall, I cried. I do not remember hearing the door open but I do remember Makalaurë's soft voice soothing me as he held me. Faithful Makalaurë.

Years passed, I admit that I made excuses not to visit him at times, sending my brothers in my stead, claiming a reluctance to leave my guard against the enemy, and my reputation as a relentless warrior bent only on revenge against Morgoth grew. Only Makalaurë saw through the mask and knew the real reason. He told me much when he returned, carrying greetings and letters. Findekáno missed me, he said; there was always a sadness in his eyes when I was not among my brothers. The child had been named Ereinion and he was beautiful, taking more after Findekáno than his mother. I did not ask for his wife and yet Makalaurë insisted in telling me. The first few years he talked of radiant smiles but as time passed, he spoke of sadness and loneliness in her eyes and I knew that she was still unloved. It made me sad to think that she was not happy with him; I knew he would take her sadness to himself, blaming himself for what he saw as his failures, and so the pain would deepen in his silver eyes. They were not easy stories to listen to, but I listened all the same.

The peace broke fast when it broke, the enemy streaming towards us, his forces large and terrible as he fell upon us, shattering our lands and people with terrible strength. It was spring before the assault lessened and we wearily gathered our forces. We were trying to rebuild when the messenger came from Hithlum; the King had been slain in single combat against Morgoth and his broken body had been borne away by the eagles to Turukáno's hidden city. I listened in horror and suddenly realised that I now owed my allegiance to Findekáno.

“Did the King see his father's fall?” I asked, praying that the messenger would deny it. He did not.

It seemed that Findekáno had looked on from a distance, forcibly held back by those who loved him as he watched the desperate ride of his father and screamed and raged at his death. Only when the eagle swept low to gather the body had he given in and allowed them to take him away. The ride back to Hithlum had been silent and grim, I was told, as the people grieved for their fallen King.

They had been met by black flags at the keep, all who met them refusing to look at Findekáno. It was not for the King they grieved. Fatherless and a widower Findekáno had returned from the battle, his wife having cut her wrists, a week previous, in the silence of the night.

I closed my eyes at his sorrow, bitterness filling my mouth as I thought of his wife. Had she not seen he had given her all that he could? Did she hate him that deeply, to damn him to pain and grief and guilt? Had she truly lost hope? My soul bled then, to have lost both father and wife, unexpectedly and unlinked. What would that do to him, I wondered, what would it do to the gentleness of heart, the love of others?

Wordlessly I stood and left the room, ordering horses to be readied at once. We left, Makalaurë and I, only a few hours later, riding in haste to Hithlum. Even at the speed we rode, it took us days, for both we and the horses were already wearied by the recent war.

The black flags still flew at the keep, fluttering limply in a weak breeze, mournful and sad sentries of grief. The courtyard that used to bustle with life and laughter was empty and still, what few Elves we saw working and speaking to no one. It seemed a keep of spirits.

I could feel the gaze Makalaurë cast me as we dismounted from our horses and left them to a stable hand. The eerie silence made me shiver with unease. We were welcomed, of course, and shown to grand rooms ripe with brocade, gilt and tapestries, fit for a king. Findekáno, I was told, had secluded himself and Ereinion since his homecoming and his people worried.

We rested and waited for Findekáno to send for us, but he did not. An eagle came that night and I wondered what news the Valar had for our King as I watched the wings blacken the stars as they flew past me. I had no doubt this was a messenger; all too well did I recall Thangorodrim and Findekáno praying. Him, the Valar still loved. It was close to morning when the bird left. I had watched for it though the night, unable to find sleep or rest in this mausoleum.

I was as surprised as all others when the door to the King's private chambers opened that morning. Findekáno was pale and drawn as he walked through the keep, carrying the small, travelclad body of his son. For the first time I saw Ereinion. Tears streaked his small face and my hands ached to comfort him, bringing back memories of another ravenhaired child, many centuries ago. There was nothing of his mother in the face of the child: he was his father's son, with his father's early beauty. Solemn grey eyes met mine for a moment, his eyes far too old for a child, and I suddenly wondered who had found the Lady bathing in her own blood. With heavy heart, I realised that the innocence of Findekáno had never had a place in this child's life and I suspected it never would.This was a child of war.

Findekáno called his warriors to him; the horn rang loudly against the stone walls, a call of arms to the house of Finwë, and I answered. We gathered in the courtyard, all defenders and armies of the King gathered. It should have been an impressive show of arms but we had lost too many in the War and the lines of soldiers had thinned. All of us watched the King, thinner and paler than any of us could remember, his silver eyes leaden and dead. The last innocence and sweetness had fled and my heart cried.

He gave the child to his captains and for a moment his face softened as his knuckles gently ran over Ereinion's cheek. The boy cried softly, soundlessly, as he clung to his father. I saw Findekáno's lips move as he whispered into the tiny ear and the child shuddered and let go.

"Take him to Círdan," he said, his voice flat. "His mother's people will raise him well."

The crowd mumbled and I stared at him in shock, unable to believe what I saw. How can a King lead his people when he sends his heir away? Did he not trust his own people to protect his heart or did he doubt our ability to keep the child safe?

"Send him to Turukáno if you must," I said, raising my voice in protest. "But do not send him from your people."

He turned his silver eyes on me then, noting my presence for the first time with a cold detachment that scared me more than anything else. Never before had he been emotionless towards others and yet now no flicker of feeling could be seen in his eyes.

"Our people are dead, we know our fates," he replied tiredly. "We will fall; Hithlum, Nargothrond and Gondolin will shatter under the enemy's forces."

The silence around us grew and I shuddered at his words. Would all that we have sought fail? Something in him at that moment reminded me of my father, the look in his eyes when he spoke upon the hill of Túna, the same despair and lack of hope. I knew the others could feel it too, our fates hanging over us, swords to our necks waiting to fall.

"But slain ye shall be," he quoted in the same tone. "By weapon and by torment and by grief."

"Then send him to Doriath," I said again. "His mother was from Elwë's realm; send him there."

Once again Findekáno's eyes met mine before he turned to his men. "Take him to Círdan," he said again. "My son will live and I will see that he is safe, no matter what cost from me or our people. We will see our children safe." He raised his voice and let it ring over the courtyard. "The armies leave within an hour, as many men as we can spare and then some. Send your children with them, send them away for safekeeping, and we will fight, we will bleed and we will fall to see that their future is one of peace."

Many were the ones that left then, hurrying to their chambers and cottages and returning with children of all ages, from babes to those near majority, sending what they could with them to see to their futures.

He was true to his word. The armies left within the hour, a grim army carrying away the future of Hithlum, for the keep was emptied of children. He was the last to leave the courtyard, save me, his eyes gazing south as if he could still see his son.

"The girdle of Melian will falter and fail," he said to me as he turned and walked back inside. Nothing else, only those few words, and I wondered at his lack of hope.

I went to him that evening, knocking softly on the door to his rooms for the first time since his engagement. I entered unbidden as the knock went unanswered. He sat on the floor by the large fireplace, a goblet of wine cradled in his hands.

"Close the door."

Quietly, I did as he told me before I sank down in one of the chairs, watching him. The raven hair fell in wild curls, loosed from the strict golden threads that usually ran through his braids.

"She made a choice," I said quietly as I sat down. "She knew your heart. You gave her all you could, it is not your guilt to carry."

He shook his head, emptying the goblet and held it out to me to be refilled.

"The eagle came to me last night," he said tiredly. "I was told much I do not wish to know, or maybe I was told what I needed to know. Among the messages he carried for me was one from Manwë himself. I am truly a widower; she will not be reborn. She forsook her eternal life because I could not love and you tell me it is not my guilt? No, Maitimo, it is my guilt and my shame."

I handed the refilled goblet back to him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him against me as I had when he was nothing but a child. "She made her own choice, Findekáno," I whispered. "I know you gave her what you could. You told me once you loved too highly and not until now do I begin to see what you were trying to tell me. You give all of yourself to those around you, holding nothing back, and your people love you."

It was with sadness that I accepted the impact this last sorrow had had on my Findekáno. The innocence and sweetness that had been the essence of him had faded and hardened, tempered by time and steel and death. What I held in my arms that night, the one who did not allow himself to cry or grieve, was a shadow of the Elf I had fallen in love with and yet, somehow, somewhere, he was still the same. Still my Findekáno and I loved him.

I stayed in Hithlum a long time after that. Makalaurë returned east to see to our people and borders but I stayed with Findekáno. He did not speak much, even to me; his smiles were rare and far between and never did the rich laughter pour from his soul. Weeks grow to months and seasons passed as I stayed with him, giving friendship and someone who would listen and talk when dreams haunted him at night.

When spring came again, I grew restless, my fingers screaming at me for the touch of his skin, my lips starving for his taste, and my dreams grew feverish when I did sleep. Quietly I readied for my departure, ignoring the Captain and Matron who begged me to stay for his sake. Soon all in the Keep but he knew that I was riding out.

I found him in the library the last night, sitting as he had sat that night when we had debated love and sacrifices, and just as then I sat down quietly and watched him. He would speak to me when he wanted company, this I had learnt.

"I will be lost without you," he said finally, his silver eyes still staring out at the stars.

"You will not," I said fondly. "You will be strong and steady as always, leading your people with love and wisdom."

He laughed slightly at that and the sound made my heart ache. I had not heard him laugh since I had joined him and the sound was more beautiful to me than any song of Makalaurë's. Maybe that is why I did it, maybe it was just the acknowledgement that he would miss me, but I went to him then and knelt by him, my hand on his thigh.

He turned his face towards me then, a gentle hand running though my hair. "What are you doing?" His voice was bemused, amused. "You have no need to kneel for me, Maitimo."

I smiled up at him and leant my cheek against his thigh. "I kneel because I want to," I replied, letting my fingers play over the muscles of the leg.

His fingers played in my hair. "Why?"

Soft laughter welled up in me at the question, the sweet innocence in him as endearing as always. Most of us had played with kisses and caresses, touches and tastes, pushing our limit and walking that thin line between freedom and bonding as we came into our majority. I know I had, but I also knew that he had not, I remembered the talk of love we had had by a lakeside in Aman, his disinterest in the love of body.

My laughter quieted as I looked at him again, seeing him as friend and monarch, leader and beloved, and I suddenly knew what I was about to do.

"Hush, Sire," I whispered softly. "I kneel for my King because he owns my heart. I kneel for loyalty and love and admiration of his strength and his love for us."

I rubbed my cheek against his leg and his eyes widened in surprise. "Maitimo..."

I silenced him by laying my fingers over his soft lips. This was my gift, my offering of strength. Many loved him but no one had given themselves to him as selflessly as he gave to others.

"Close your eyes," I whispered and let my hand fall, brushing over his chest and stomach before it settled in his hip. I looked up again, all laughter and amusement gone from my face. His eyes were wide and slightly darker then usual as they met mine. "Close your eyes," I said again and saw his eyelids flutter before they fell closed, the dark lashes resting against his cheeks.

I fumbled when I unlaced his leggings, finding him half erect under the soft suede. A shudder ran through him and I forced myself to tear my gaze from his face, to look away from his beauty before it blinded me.

I closed my eyes as I worshipped him with lips and tongue, savouring his taste and the touch of his hands running through my hair. The breathless gasps that spilled from his mouth set my blood on fire, but this was not for me. His seed filled my mouth and I swallowed before I rose, taking him in my arms.

His eyes opened and his lips parted to speak, but I once again laid my fingers across them before I led him to his chambers. We did not speak; I could feel the tension in him and I saw the confusion in his eyes. I worshipped him that night, giving all, pouring myself into loving him with hand and mouth. I know I strayed dangerously close to the line of bonding, neither of us taking the other, but I drank his essence many times during the dark hours as I served him. If a bond was seen in his eyes the following morning then few, if any, would question it, thinking it the bond he shared with his late wife.

He reached for me at one point but I batted his hands away. I would not seek my own pleasure this night; I would love and accept and give all without seeking any gain of my own.

I got dressed at dawn and gently disentangled myself from him. He was beautiful, the raven hair spilling over the pillows and the heavily muscled body gleaming in the faint light. There was peace in his face as he slept, peace that I had not seen there for many long years and I felt a similar calm in myself.

My body ached with unspent desires as I dressed and bent down, brushing my lips against his in the first truly selfish act since the previous evening. His lips curved into a small smile even in his sleep.

A moment of hesitation came over me before I covered my head, tugging the hood of the cloak up to hide my face before I left. Most of the Keep remained asleep; only stableboys and kitchen maids stumbled tiredly about their tasks. I asked for my horse to be readied and ate quickly while I waited. The Matron and Captain both came to me, asking me once again to stay, but I shook my head silently, keeping my eyes lowered and my hood up. The time had come for me to leave.

I rode out before he woke; that was my last gift to him from me this time. No questions and no awkwardness. The ride was long and slow and I did not push myself this time on my way home. Home, such a strange small word that meant nothing. Home was a Keep and a cause in which I had lost faith centuries ago, it was a grim place where my brother was my only solace against madness.

I was welcomed when I arrived and a meal set ready for me. I was tired and sore of heart and said little to Makalaurë as I ate. I do not know what alerted him but suddenly I felt him take my head in his hands, tilting my face until our eyes met.

"What have you done, Maitimo?" he whispered at what he read in my eyes.

"What needed to be done," I replied, my voice low. "I gave what I could that he would find himself again. Leave it be, Makalaurë. I did what I felt I must."

He did not berate me after that, accepting what I had told him with loyalty and grace. I knew that his regret over what had been done was for me, for he had always known what I hid from others.

My borders were hard pressed and the fighting never truly ceased in the years that followed. A few messages were sent between me and Findekáno, all warm and friendly, none more that that. There were nights when I regretted what I had done, that I had bound myself to one who did not love me, but most nights I took comfort in the memory of his skin under my fingers and his taste against my tongue. I loved no less but I did love differently.

News came to us of a large battle in which Dor-lómin fell and Findekáno's forces fought and failed at Hithlum. By the time news reached us, he had been saved; Círdan's ships had come to his aid and Hithlum still stood. Great fear rose in me at the news, imagining a life without Findekáno, and so I befriended the new Men that came from the east and started to build alliances. One day we would be strong, Men and Elves, and we would march on Angband and we would win. If not, we would die.

He came to me one spring when his borders were quiet and he could afford to leave, and I welcomed him. The first night was long as he, Makalaurë and I shared stories and memories as wine flowed freely. His silver eyes shone with joy and laughter and I could see the life that had started to fade from his eyes dance through them again. I felt at peace.

My brother excused himself close to dawn and silence fell between us once we found ourselves on our own. For the first time that I could remember, I was unable to read his thoughts as he looked on me, quiet and serious, and fear grew inside me.

"You left before I woke," he said finally, his voice calm and unreadable.

"Yes," I said as I stood, walking over to the window with my back to him. "I thought it best."

I heard the soft sounds of moving, boots scraping over the stone as he rose and came to stand behind me.

"I remember a conversation we had once," he said, "I made a vow I would not love and you called me young and innocent. I did not understand and I lived by that vow, my heart untouched by all who reached out to me. Grieving as all around me found the other half of their souls and I did not, my heart flawed and loveless."

"I remember," I replied. "You kept your honour. I also told you once, another night, that not all of us are made to marry. I ask nothing from you, Sire."

He moved closer. I could feel the heat of his body behind my back, but he did not touch me. "But you did bind and I broke that promise."

It took me a moment before I realised what he had said. I had married, but in secret and asking nothing in return, and he had come to tell me that he loved. He had found the Elf that was the missing part of himself and I had bound him, trapped him into this shadow of a bond. I cursed my carelessness, my lack of foresight. My heart was shattering inside my chest but it did not matter. His happiness was too important, and I had tainted that as I had tainted all else.

"I would set you free if I could," I managed to answer, hating the strain on my voice as I struggled not to choke. I spoke true. If I could set him free I would, but I knew him well enough to realise that my death and choice, following on that of his Lady, would crush him. "I will set you free if you ask." I had to say it nonetheless.

His hands came up to cover my shoulders, rubbing them gently. "I do not wish for freedom." His voice was warm and low, sending shivers down my spine before he pressed his lips against my neck. Overcome by emotions, I gave into him, the soft kisses and caresses, as he worshipped me the way I had once worshipped him. Cousins by blood and lovers. My soul cried as he took me but my body soared in ecstasy. Tainted, my mind taunted. Tainted by bloodbonds and love. I knew I was, but not him. There was no taint in him and so I accepted what he gave.

Had both our lives led to this moment? This sharing of bodies and souls as we poured our love into each other, gasping and moaning as our bodies moved? Perhaps it had. I felt whole again for the first time since Alqualondë. The end came quickly for both of us and we relaxed in the arms of the one we loved before the play started anew. I relished every touch and taste of him, each caress against my skin, and his dominance despite his inexperience set me aflame as I gave all and took him inside me, filled and loved until we screamed and spent.

The months that passed were filled with joy and laughter for both him and me as we grew closer than before, sharing all. Makalaurë watched us with a smile, passing no judgement on our sins but accepting our happiness.

Summer flew fast and all too soon did autumn fall and his time in my home came to an end. He was King first and lover second, that I understood and accepted. Still my soul tore as he left.

Time is a strange thing for the Quendi; a generation of Men come and pass before our eyes before we even have time to realise that they are there. A century is short in so many of the ways that count. The enemy grew stronger and the skirmishes grew more vicious and more violent before they suddenly and unexpectedly stilled. Songs came to us soon after of Beren the Man and Lúthien of Doriath, of the fall of my cousin Findaráto and the recapture of a Silmaril. Hope lit inside me again and I gathered my strength and sent out messengers, pleading for others to join me. Naugrim and Edain and the Men of the East answered, Doriath did not.

I rode to Hithlum again that summer, filled with life and hope as I spent a month in the arms of my beloved. We talked of war and draw plans and maps, but it was the silent nights with him and the nights of passion that I treasured above all else.

Too quickly the month passed and I left, to answer messages and call to arms, my heart light. Soon, I vowed to myself, would we break the curse we had taken upon ourselves. Soon we would be redeemed. Soon, there would be peace.

Midsummer came and we marched to war, our plans filled with glory and grandeur. My forces and I would draw out the enemy, acting the treat as to which lure the hound, and once the enemy was engaged in battle the forces of Findekáno would strike from the west. We would catch them between hammer and anvil and we would crush them.

Uldor came to me and Makalaurë after we had started our march, warning us of an attack from the enemy, and we were forced to restructure our plans and forces. Still I had hope; Findekáno would not move until my forces had engaged in battle.

Too late did we realise we had been betrayed, already were the force of Hithlum in battle before we came and we were separated from our allies by Glaurung, the firedrake, and from three sides did the enemy come upon us. It was Makalaurë who cut down the traitor, cold and dangerous in his fury, and yet we were failing. The Naugrim saved us; they alone could face the heat of Glaurung and their battle was long before the snake was slain.

By then the battle on the field we came to was already failing, Quendi and Men fleeing the field as soon as they could, and we had no choice but to join in the flight, overrun by Orcs and Balrogs and all the other creatures that Morgoth had in his service.

The world around us was in chaos, the screams from the dying and grieving, the whimpers of the injured, and the overwhelming smell of blood and smoke surrounded us. All dreams that I had of peace and redemption were lost, shattered by the betrayal of Men. The ground behind us was littered with corpses. The time of the Quendi had passed, we had failed. I had failed.

Night fell before we stopped to care for our wounded and I went aside, sat apart to think and to wait for him to join me, but it was my brother who came, his face pale and drawn.

Would I have left the field of battle if I had known what I know now? Would I have fought my enemies until we could flee if I had known his need for safety had passed?

~~~*~~~

Wordlessly I watch them, my heart shattered by my recent knowledge. Maybe I should rage and scream as Turukáno is doing, maybe I should cry, but I cannot. I cannot feel, cannot think, cannot breathe.

"Was his body recovered?" I hear you ask.

"There was nothing left to recover. His body was torn apart, trampled into the ground by the Balrogs."

Their words are faint, hardly reaching me despite the fact that I stand with them. Broken.

They will forget, even the memories of the Quendi will forget him. They will remember his battle with the dragon, his valiant rescue of me from Thangorodrim, they will remember their love for him and maybe his death, but they will forget him. They will forget those things that made him Findekáno, the smile, the laughter and the love. They will forget how much he sacrificed for them, they will forget why the children were sent away. They will forget him, they will forget his voice and his silver eyes, his scent and touch and taste. They will all forget.

The words of Mandos echo in my memories, taunting me. “Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanaro the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also.”

How true those words have come to be, how foolish of me to believe in redemption. We are cursed by our own actions. There is no hope, no salvation, no life.

Tears unnumbered ye shall shed...Findekáno....

Names:
Makalaurë - Maglor
Nelyafinwë, Maitimo, Russandol - Maedhros
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Findaráto - Finrod
Irissë - Aredhel
Itarillë - Idril
Aikanáro - Aegnor
Angaráto - Angrod
Arafinwë - Finarfin
Elwë - Elu Thingol
Fëanaro - Fëanor
Naugrim -Dwarves
Quendi - Elves

Author's note: For those of you that recognised qoutes out of the Silmarillion and reacted at the fact that they had been changed. There were three instances where I did this. In one I changed one word to be less antiquated, in the other two I simple changed the names into the Quenya form. This was done with no disrespect and only for the continuity of the story.

SSP-in: Celeborn and Galadriel

2005-01-04T16:56:37Z

Title: I Am Two Fools
By: Sphinx
Pairing : Celeborn and Galadriel
Rating: PG-13.
Warning: Het romance, disjointed narrative.

Summary: Celeborn, Galadriel, and a beginning in Doriath. Cameos by Thingol, Melian and Aegnor.

I Am Two Fools

FIC: All I have

2004-12-25T16:05:20Z

Title: All I have
Author: Uli (ford_of_bruinen@yahoo.co.uk)
Beta: Tallulah and Tux
Rating PG-13
Pairing: Elured/Elurin
Author’s Note: A Christmas present to my wonderful beta Eni who deserved something for all her hard work. A great thank you to both Tallulah and Tux for wonderful beta input and all stubbornly remaining mistakes are mine :)

His brother was crying. Eluréd wrapped his arms around the elfling beside him, hugging him hard and trying to soothe him as he had seen Nana and Ada do when they had woken from nightmares. “There now, Elurín,” he whispered, trying to sound brave and strong, “there now, all will be well.”

He knew he was lying; nothing would ever be well again. They huddled together in the cold and the snow. Only a week ago they had been looking forwards to the midwinter celebrations and now, on the eve of celebration, their lives were shattered. They were on their own.

“I will take care of you now,” he whispered against his brother’s hair, a small child becoming an adult too early. “No one will hurt you again.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elurín rubbed his eyes tiredly as he fought to keep the small fire burning. The world had changed and the woods of Doriath were no more. He did not know where Eluréd was; his twin had left several hours ago and had not yet returned.

He curled up beside the fire as he thought back. This winter, he decided, was the worst he could remember since the year when their family had been murdered. It was midwinter eve and he was surprised to find himself alone; Eluréd knew how he hated this night, they both did, and still his twin had gone. He fought down his fear of being left on his own, of losing the only one that remained in his life.

Soft footsteps drew closer to their cave before his twin entered, shaking snow out from his tangled, unbrushed hair as he dumped the worn cloak on the floor of the cave with a heavy thump.

Elurín refused to raise his head, hurt and angry about having been left on his own on the day that felt longer than all others. He leant his head against his knees, trying not to cry. For some reason this year was worse than before, the cold and snow deeper, the night darker and the hideouts they had made through the centuries gone, lost beneath the water. He felt adrift, lost and afraid.

“Elurín?” His brother’s voice was soft, worried – his brother always worried. Strong, sinewy arms wrapped around him. “What is wrong?”

The fury exploded in him as he jumped up from the cave floor, away from his brother. “You!” he screamed, wanting, needing to make his brother hurt as much as he did. “You are what is wrong!”

Eluréd stared at him, his grey eyes dark of hurt and pain before he lowered his gaze. “I see,” he whispered, his voice rusty. ”I…” He straightened slowly, his shoulder slumped and dejected. “I will leave you alone,” he continued in a dreadful hollow voice. “Whatever is wrapped in my cloak is yours.”

Eluréd’s steps were heavy as he left, walking back into the snowstorm, his head lowered. Elurín stared after him, his heart shattering. All he wanted was to cling to his brother, plead with him not to leave. He had not meant it, he had just been angry, but he was unable to move as he stood there, frozen in horror at what he had done.

Slowly his gaze turned to the cloak on the floor, the worn and thin material had been wrapped into a large bundle, making the many stitches and patches threaten to burst at the seams. He kneeled by it numbly, his clumsy fingers untying the knots that held the material together, unfolding it reluctantly.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he cried helplessly, his thin body shaking of harsh sobs at the small wrapped gifts and the foods and sweets that must have cost his brother dearly. The thoughtfulness and love that it must had taken his brother to approach others made his heart ache, Eluréd more than himself avoided others and still he had done this, done it for him and he in return had hurt him.

He scrambled to his feet desperately, his need to find Eluréd overriding all other things as he ran out of the cave, sliding over the ice and snow.

“Eluréd!” His voice rang out in the storm, unanswered, as the winds carried his voice away. “Eluréd!” he screamed, again and again as he desperately searched for his brother. The storm howled around him, cold snow whipped his face but he did not care. Not even when his body no longer felt the chill did he care about a thing apart from Eluréd.

Finally he saw him, the thin huddled shape against a tree, almost buried in snow. “Eluréd!” He knelt brushing the show away from his brother’s face and hair.

The elder twin raised his head, his eyes empty, as he stared at a point over Elurín’s shoulder. “Why did you come?” he asked in the strangely hollow voice. “I slow you down, I make us hide. Go away, Elurín, go back to other elves.”

Elurín sobbed and wrapped his arms hard around his brother, unable to stop touching him. “I am so sorry,” he whispered over and over again as he rocked with his brother’s body clasped tightly. “So very sorry... I did not mean it… you are my everything Eluréd”

He felt his brother’s tears against his neck. “No,” Eluréd mumbled hoarsely. “I am wrong… I keep us hidden but I cannot keep you happy… you need others... go away, Elurín.”

He refused to leave, clinging to his brother as they both sobbed, crying over lives that were so very different from what they had been born to, lives that never changed, never saw others.

“I could not leave without you,” he mumbled finally, pressing fevered lips against his brother’s. “Come now, let us go back.”

Slowly and carefully they stumbled together towards the cave, their bodies chilled through to the point where cold no longer hurt before they reached their shelter. Eluréd stopped at the entrance, staring at the small presents and foods and sweets on his discarded coat. “Midwinter never came that year,” he whispered, his voice small and lost. “I wanted it to come but it never did… I thought this year…I thought it would make you happy.”

The younger twin nudged his brother in, pushing him down beside the fire before wrapping one of the hides they used as blankets around him, taking care of the one that had always been the strong one. “It did,” he said. “I was angry because I thought you had forgotten... I was scared you had left me.”

A shiver ran through Eluréd and soon his whole body shook as heat returned slowly. “I will never forget,” he promised, his voice strangled. “I never could.” He looked up at Elurín, the empty expression in the eyes fading slowly. “I hunted when you did not see,” he said, “I hid the hides and the carvings I managed to do when your back was turned, for a year I hid them. I took them to the village this morning, trading them.” He nodded towards the small gifts. “You should open them.”

Hesitantly Elurín’s shaking hands unwrapped the gifts, a small hairclasp, a hairbrush, a soft warm tunic and a new cloak and boots. Overawed he stared at his brother, fighting back tears; never could he remember seeing so many fine things in one place. “I have nothing to give you,” he said, his voice small. “I…”

Eluréd crept unsteadily to where his brother sat, wrapping his arms and the hide around them both. “You do not need to,” he whispered, stroking Elurín’s hair, “all I ever wanted was to see you happy.” He pressed his lips against his brother’s ear. ”You are my life, Elurín.”

He closed his eyes, grateful for what he had; he needed nothing as long as Eluréd was with him. He turned his head, smiling shakily at his brother as he leant in, touching his lips lovingly against his twin’s. “My Eluréd,” he whispered softly, lovingly. The cold and storm no longer mattered, the memories of the night forgotten as they kissed, tenderly, gently their breaths danced together, mingled and mated. They needed no one else.

Playing the Martyr

2004-12-11T00:52:00Z

Title: Playing the Martyr
Author: finnygan
Rating: Err ... PG?
Pairing: Fëanor and Nerdanel, if you can call it a pairing
Disclaimer: not mine. Title based on Ani Difranco quote.
Notes: first go at Silmarillion-fic - just looking for some feedback so that I might improve myself.

She had always smiled as if she knew something he didn't when he told her how he loved her hair. Once, when he had asked, she had told him that it was not her hair that he loved, but the reflection of himself that he could see in its colour. She said that its colour, that strange metallic red shade, reminded him, if nothing else, of himself; of his temper, of his skill. He wondered at times if it was true, if he loved her because she could be his mirror. Not often, though.

It had been so long since she had last smiled, now. It had been long since she had been anything to him but a disapproving frown, no longer bothering to hide that she thought him a fool, a rebellious fool. He knew she should be more to him, even when strangers, as they were now. She, the mother of his sons, the woman with the mirroring hair. The one who had always known something he didn't, the only one to do so, the only one who had let judge him. And now she had judged him, though he was not sure if she would say so. Perhaps she would say that the judgementhad not been made by her, but by himself. She was his mirror, after all.

Among the things that they both knew was this, that she was pitied. Pitied by all, but him and her. But what he knew that she did not know was that she enjoyed being pitied, and he prided himself on this knowledge, for there were few things that he knew but she did not. He knew that she liked being the victim of the rebellious fool, though she told him that she did not. He knew, as she did, what people saw when they looked at them. The ever-impatient one, impatient for change, impatient for his own brilliance, and the temperate one, kept so busy, trying to weather the storms which seemed finally to have toppled her, too. She knew which roles they had been given, and he knew these roles, too. But she didn't know how she liked her role, how she loved the cross she bore, and he knew, and he thought that perhaps he was a mirror, too.

Perhaps this was the beginning he had wanted so much, or the end, he didn't know which. This mirror had stopped him for too long. He stared at the unreflecting wood of the door she had just closed.

[FIC] Let It Snow

2004-12-05T00:13:10Z

I've just posted a short modern-Quendi story about Fingon and Maedhros in Tokyo of all places. Culture shock and exploration of bonds. Slash or friendship depending on the reader. Wordcount somewhere below 2000 words.

Interested? Please check it out!

FIC: Because I Love You

2004-11-20T00:35:13Z

Title: Because I Love You
Author: Uli (ford_of_bruinen@yahoo.co.uk)
Rating: NC-17
Type: FPS
Pairing: Fingon/Maedhros
Warning: PWP, pure PWP
Disclaimer: Not in any way mine
Beta: Eni

Sometimes I just watch him as he sleep, his strong face relaxed and peaceful, and my heart aches with his beauty, aches with my love.

I trace my fingers over the pale skin, over your forehead, the hollow at your temple, the high cheekbones. Lovingly, my caress comes to a rest at your mouth, the soft, moist lips parted in sleep. Desire stirs in me as always when I am with you. It has been this way since you were merely forty and I even younger, long before I understood the emotions that raged through my young body; even then I ached to touch you.

I smile as I remember you as you were then, too tall and gangly, hands and feet too large and clumsy as an overgrown pup and still, in my eyes, you were beautiful. We were innocents then, children, aware of the tension between your father and mine, but we chose to ignore it; to us it meant nothing, not then. Too many years, centuries, have passed since then, as has our innocence, yours more than mine. The gentle boy that I knew in childhood is gone, replaced by a man that is all muscle – hardened by too many wars, all hard steel and cold logic. Still, you are beautiful.

My hand resumes its exploration of your well loved body, ghosting over a gracefully pointed ear, your smooth neck and broad shoulders; what perfection had been used when you were shaped, Maitimo, smooth, strong and flawless. Light fingers run over your satiny skin and firm muscle, down your arm and then…nothing, the only flaw in perfection - which I had put there.

As my thumb rubs slowly over the healed scar the images haunt me. Once again, I see you shackled to Thangorodrim, begging me to end your suffering, to slay you whom I love above all others, and I feel the despair I felt then. I know that if I close my eyes, the jolt of my sword cutting through flesh will travel up my sword arm once again, the cutting of bones and tendons as your blood soaked us both. Could I have saved you whole if I had tried harder, my love? Was there a solution that I, in my despair, could not see before I took your hand away from you? Guilt overcomes me again and I press my lips against the scar; inside I scream, cry for forgiveness that can never be found.

I feel your eyes upon me, unsure of when you awoke, and I shy from your gaze. How can I meet your eyes, knowing what I cost you?

“You had no choice.” Your deep voice is calm, quiet and as always it sends shivers of pleasure down my spine. “There is no guilt, Findekáno.”

But you are wrong. There is guilt. Hot and sickening, it tries to strangle me and I can see it in your brothers when they look at me, but we do not speak about that. Or rather I do not; you try at times, as you do now.

Your one hand entangles itself among my braids, mostly undone by love and sleep, as you gently pull at my hair, forcing me to meet your eyes. “There is no guilt,” you repeat steadily without letting go of me, denying me the option of hiding. Only when I nod does your grip lessen.

“No guilt,” I say obligingly. My voice is low and hoarse and I suddenly realise that we have never said this much before; never until now have you forced me to say the words, to agree with you. My love for you threatens to choke me and I bend down, crushing your lips beneath mine as I taste you, desperately. Our times together are too few and too hurried, our pleasure kept hidden and secret for our close kinship, and still I cannot get enough of you. Never will I tire of your touch or taste. There will be neither wife nor child in my future no matter what the years will bring; I gave my heart to a gangly child long before the sun and moon graced the skies and it cannot be reclaimed, nor do I want it to be.

My tongue traces your lips and your mouth opens for me, allowing me entry. I drink deeply, plunging my tongue between your lips and teeth, tasting that flavour that is uniquely yours. I am surprised at your submission this morning; it has been centuries since the last time I saw you this relaxed, this peaceful when awake, and I wonder what has changed. Our tongues dance together and I move, stretching my body over yours, resting between your strong legs as we kiss.

Your body is hard against mine, an artwork of muscle and skin and strength. I cannot get enough of you, cannot taste you deeply enough to satiate my thirst as we rub against each other, our hard erections trapped between our bodies. Your hand is still in my hair, grip tightening as you pull away from the kiss and turn your head, giving me access to the smooth skin of our neck. I feel your arm wrap itself around my waist before settling against my lower back, pressing my erection harder against yours; our pre-ejaculate is already making us both slick, sticky as out arousal soars higher.

My mouth finds your ear, sucking mercilessly; how I love the sounds you make as my tongue and teeth caress your earlobe. The whimpers which I knew you would make cause me to shiver, as does the change in your breathing: fast, hard and shallow breaths of need.

“Findekáno, please…”

The hoarseness in your voice makes me smile. You will not plead for mercy on the battlefield but here, in my bed, you have no such restrictions as you come undone, writhing mindlessly, for me, only for me. My heart is beating so hard that I fear it will escape from my chest - our need is always like this, hot, strong and relentless.

My hands roam over your body, feverishly touching all the skin I can reach, caressing you in all the ways I can possibly think of, making you writhe more. For a moment I fear I will spill myself like this, against your hot skin, but I regain my control, barely.

“Findekáno.” Your voice is broken, raw with passion as you say my name again and I shudder in response. I cannot wait, not this time. Still I hesitate; to take or be taken? Your muscular legs wrap themselves around my hips as you tilt yours against me. It seems you have a preference this morning, my love, and as always I will follow your lead. I look around for the oil we used freely last night but before my eyes find it you arch harder against me.

“Now.” Despite the breathlessness your voice is firm, certain, and I know what you want. “Hard, Findekáno.”

I ignore you. Carefully I bury myself inside your body, grateful that we fell asleep last night before we had bathed: you may be unprepared this time but I will not harm you. Slowly I sink into you, biting down hard on my lip to keep control of myself. You want this, the pain and the pleasure, as I bury myself to the hilt. The tight throbbing heat around me is my undoing and I withdraw, feeling you cling to me, reluctant to let go and then I take you again, hard and deep. Again and again I thrust inside you, feeling my pulse race faster, my heart beat quicker as I take you.

“Ye….Findek…” Your words are broken by need, incoherent pants coming out of your lovely mouth and I can feel my body tightening as I look at you, your body flushed with arousal, fiery hair spilling over the cream pillows, clinging to your skin. Your grey eyes are almost black and glazed with lust as you thrust wildly, desperately against my stomach.

I pound into you, my force and speed increasing as I lower my face against your neck, biting down hard where the smooth skin joins your shoulder. The added pain and pleasure makes you convulse.

Your voice is raw and hoarse as you scream my name, your seed pumping between us in hard jets, hot, slick semen coating our stomachs. I can almost taste it in my mouth, the essence of you, warm, rich and delicious. I bury myself deep inside you as I continue to thrust into the channel that is pulsating hard around me and I scream wordlessly as I spill myself, filling you with my essence. Only when I am empty do my hips stop moving as I fall over you, exhausted by the intensity of our lovemaking. It is always like this.

Your hand plays with my braids as you continue to hold me close. You always loved my braids and so they are my only vanity; I twist gold through them, making them more pleasing to your eyes. I love you, with all that I am and I always have. You are my reason for living in a world where nothing else seems to make sense and so for you there is nothing I would not do.

I move off your body, leaving my head against your shoulder, my leg draped over yours as our hearts and breathing calm.

“I see hope in you again,” I say finally, addressing the change which I have seen in you since you came to me late last night.

“I have hope,” you answer, a tired smile in your voice. “For the first time I can remember, I have hope. This time I think we can win.”

Another war then. I am so tired of them, tired of bloodshed and duty. I never wanted the responsibility of the crown that rests so heavily on my head, the crown both our fathers wanted so highly. Yet I know that I will fight. I will lead my people into yet another war because of you. If I fight beside you I can keep you safe, I can make sure that you will return to me, and so I make my people bleed for my love.

“I will come,” I promise you as I close my eyes. When dawn comes I will prepare my people for a fifth battle, because I love you.

Magweth Pengolodh Part 4

2004-11-10T09:47:35Z

Less obscure 'cause it's based on "Unfinished Tales" stuff. Plus, it's got Maeglin. That's good, yes?

Part 4 of Magweth Pengolodh: The Question of Pengolod – The Erulaitalë. Pengolod recounts his first meeting with Maeglin, then goes to witness the midsummer rite of the Erulaitalë, where he sees Tar-Minastir in his finest hour.

The Jewel of Gondolin [Slash, PG13, Erestor/Glorfindel] (whispers My first post here, methinks :P)

2004-10-17T16:34:59Z

Title: The Jewel of Gondolin
Type: Fictional, slash
Author: Andrannath Mírdaneg, andrannath@hotmail.com
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Disclaimer: If they were mine, would I waste my time writing about them?! Heck, I’d be BETWEEN them every freaking minute!!!
Beta: NONE!
Timeline: FA 510
Notes: This is actually my first work of slash ever. As it was horrible horrible horrible, and I’ve been told this has a potential (as being one of the first Gondolin ficcies ever *cough cough* please, let me have my 15min of glor(f)y :P) so I’ve decided to completely demolish and repair it and do something of it until I was satisfied (who’d say 15 min are all it takes?! :P)
Summary: The preparations for the Festival of the Summer begin…
Another note: There’s loads of Sindarin and Quenya in here, as I’ve tried to show Erestor losing his sanity by slowly turning towards the language of his youth (a.k.a. Quenya). I’ve decided to place the meaning of every phrase in the brackets by the phrase. The literal meanings and all necessary information can be acquired under the “translations” section.

( The Jewel of Gondolin )

SSP: Magweth Pengolodh: The Question of Pengolod

2004-09-22T10:45:36Z

Tonight, I have posted parts 1 through 3 of a long Silmarillion/HoME genfic, Magweth Pengolodh: The Question of Pengolod. The short summary of this is "On his way to Tol Eressea an elvish
loremaster, Pengolod, gets off the boat in Númenor, hangs out in Rómenna for a while, tells some stories, and exacerbates inter-racial tension between mortals and elves."

Who wants to read a long Silmarillion/ HoME genfic that has two HoME characters, Pengolod and Aelfwine, as its protagonists? Perhaps I can persuade you by saying it's got ships, books, feasting, Númenor and Rómenna in detail, the proud prince Ciryatan, some women characters for once, and drag queens. There are historical Silmarillion cameo appearances galore: Rumil of Tirion, Turgon, Idril, Voronwe, Elemmakil, Maedhros. It's got a dual-level narrative going on and it's rather different, overall, but I'm having a great deal of fun writing it. I hope a few of you enjoy reading it.

Many thanks to my beta readers and to Claudio for his translation help!

Slightly OT - Galvorn Awards

2004-09-14T03:39:36Z

Nominations are now open for the 2004 Galvorn Awards for Silmarillion Fanfiction (a VERY tongue-in-cheek contest indeed). Check out the rules and all the new categories at the Galvorn Awards Website, and then send your nominations to galvornawards@yahoo.com. (Remember, you need to get the author's permission to nominate a story.) The Galvorns have a Live Journal this year, too (the Galvorn Awards Community), which is where announcements and updates to the nominations list will be posted.

Spread the word! There are a lot of Silmfics out there, and we wouldn't want anyone to miss out on the fun.

Ithilwen

SSPing

2004-09-10T08:33:07Z

A shameless SSP. Please read it, comment, flame (just kidding), whatever.

To Look Upon It Once

Apologies for the mass-cross posting...

2004-09-05T11:28:32Z

firetofire

The letters of one Nelyafinwë Maitimo (also Maedhros) and one Findekáno Anaíro (also Fingon), over the course of a long and eventful history in friendship, in love, in politics and as heartless bastards.

You know you want to.

SilmFics

Tolkien Illustrator's First Aid Kit: Elves

Art contest!

silmfics @ 2006-06-20T18:49:00

Mellon, im Maedhros. Telin le thaed.

Maedhros - art

Voices Of Despair

The Baby Thranduil Drabble Series

silmfics @ 2005-08-29T20:25:00

Silent Sanctuary - Prologue

'Quenta Silmarillion' movie news

Invitation to new awards

MPQP Complete!

'The First Snow'

FIC: Memories Of Findekáno

SSP-in: Celeborn and Galadriel

FIC: All I have

Playing the Martyr

[FIC] Let It Snow

FIC: Because I Love You

Magweth Pengolodh Part 4

The Jewel of Gondolin [Slash, PG13, Erestor/Glorfindel] (*whispers* My first post here, methinks :P)

SSP: Magweth Pengolodh: The Question of Pengolod

Slightly OT - Galvorn Awards

SSPing

Apologies for the mass-cross posting...

The Jewel of Gondolin [Slash, PG13, Erestor/Glorfindel] (whispers My first post here, methinks :P)